The Wellspring
by vegakrist
Summary: 2009: In which young Alec is a Manticore escapee and two guys with rock salt-loaded shotguns decide they need a tiny tag-along. *Supernatural/ Dark Angel Crossover*
1. Chicken & Funyuns

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter One - Chicken & Funyuns_

* * *

Sam Winchester rifles through the white plastic bag in his lap. He crinkles his nose. Funyuns. Again.

"Dude...Funyuns?" He tries not to whine, but fails miserably. Dean smirks from the driver's seat, snatches the yellow package out of his baby brother's hand. Rips it open with his teeth. "Dean, if we have to live off of chips, can't you at least get us a decent-"

"You stop right there before I disown you," Dean interjects, steering with one hand while he positions the snack food between his legs with the other. "First of all, Funyuns aren't _chips_. They're a tasty onion treat. Second of all, they're fucking incredible."

"This is the third day in a row-"

"_Third_ of all, they're still hot on the market. You can find Funyuns anywhere, Sammy. They're not like tomatoes or bread or meat or any of those other sandwich fixings I so dearly miss..."

Dean trails off longingly. Sam stifles a sigh, looks out the window of the Impala.

The Impala. Sam is grateful that she is still intact. The world has come crashing down with the Pulse, but the Winchesters still have their home. Granted, she is a home that requires fuel they can't exactly afford and Dean keeps making Sam siphon the gas from other cars.

"Sammy, dig into your Funyuns."

"No."

"Aw, c'mon...it'll help get that nasty gasoline taste out of your mouth..."

Sam scowls, but Dean has a point. So he digs into his Funyuns.

Sometimes when they are in the car it is like nothing has changed at all. Sometimes the sun still shines down on green grass and flowers still pop out of the dirt and Dean still elbows Sam in the side and says something utterly stupid.

That's when they're in the car. That's when they're not outside with everyone else, scrounging for food and money and shelter. They can usually hustle or steal or sell enough to get a place for the night, but sometimes they can't. They've gotten used to parking and sleeping, letting down their seats, shoving their long legs in awkward positions and just passing out with asses aching from sitting all day long in this car it seems they still come home to.

"So this house..." Sam trails off, forehead pressed against the cool glass of the passenger side window.

"I don't even know why we're bothering," Dean says, and he's said it before. They hunt ghosts and demons and werewolves and shit, because crazy ass evil bastards like that kill people - but now people are killing people and cops are killing people and its happening all the time, in the streets, in public. Yesterday they were in Helena, Montana. Montana, for chrissakes, and people were flooding the streets and Dean couldn't see where he was going and he stepped in shit. And it wasn't dog shit. It was people shit. And Sam had taken one look at his brother's face and laughed at the absurdity of it all.

"Because whatever's in the damn house can still kill people," Sam says, and he's said it before. "People...some people, city people, are probably going to be hiking out of the suburbs, trying to fend for themselves. They're not used to the area. They see an abandoned house, they're going to squat, and they're not going to know what the fuck's inside."

"What are the chances of them just making it to the house..."

People are always hitchhiking now. The Winchester brothers used to see them sometimes - of course they did, they lived on the goddamn road - but it was only sometimes. They're always out there now. Whole families are out there now.

Sam and Dean never pick them up. There are times, rare times, when its just one person out there, one person who looks hungry and scared and tired and Sam will say, "Dean, let's pick 'em up" and Dean will say "Sam, if we pick that person up, we'll have to pick every person up" even though the statement is ridiculous and untrue. And Sam will nod without much argument and they'll drive on by.

There are other times when there's one person and a dog, usually an old person and a big dog, and Dean will say, "Sam, let's pick 'em up" and Sam will say, "Dean...I don't want a dog in the back seat." And Dean will nod without much argument and they'll drive on by again.

"One of my Funyuns is burnt," Dean says now, without much concern, holding the darkened circular snack in his hand and examining it.

"Dude, keep your eyes on the road."

"But look at it, man. It's _abnormal_."

Sam snatches the Funyun out of his brother's grasp and shoves it in his own mouth despite Dean's vehement complaints. Despite any abnormality, they both know that Dean fully intended to eat that Funyun.

The rest of the drive goes by in relative silence and before they know it, they've arrived. The house is crumbling. The wood is old and rotting, and Sam eyes it distrustfully as Dean pulls the shotguns out of the trunk.

"Fuck Montana," Dean says, handing Sam a gun. He doesn't say it for a reason. He doesn't have to. The world may have changed, but Dean didn't, and he still just likes to hear himself talk sometimes.

The steps creak under their feet and Sam's foot actually goes through one of the porch floorboards. He curses up a storm while Dean laughs and calls him fat.

They get through the foyer without incident.

It's in the great room. It's a spirit. It usually is. But this one's gross, and a girl, and naked. She's grey and her eyes are dark and her hair is so blonde it's practically white. It hangs, dirty and stringy around her face, which is heart-shaped and probably used to be attractive but now it's screaming fucking ugly at the Winchester brothers and Dean is shooting her and Sam is shooting her and both of them are feeling bad about it because one of her tits is cut halfway off.

"I was the victim here." Her voice is low and distant and coming out of the walls and out of the ceiling and out of the fucking floor. Dean can hear it in his bones. Sam can feel her in every inch of his body and he shoots her again, feels bad about it again, right before Dean grabs him by the sleeve and drags him through the room and through the kitchen and out the back of the goddamned house.

They're both colder than the air outside and Dean keeps a steady, unconscious hand on his brother's back while they get a grip on themselves.

"Okay...now we find out who she was," Dean pants. He's still catching his breath, still trying to feel normal again.

But Sam's eyes are elsewhere. They're pinned on the barn in the backyard, the one they couldn't see from the front. He starts moving towards it, but Dean yanks him back by the fabric of his shirt.

"Wait until I'm ready." Dean's tone is quick and harsh and implying that Sam should know better. The younger Winchester can't help the way his eyes narrow at the manner in which it reminds him of their father.

Dean lets go of Sam's shirt. It's only a few steps until they spot the trail of blood splatter along the dirt and grass, leading into the barn. Dean gives Sam a look, and both of them hoist their shotguns up into shooting positions. They cover themselves in silence, stepping lightly towards the ramshackle barn, deaf footsteps camouflaging them like lions in tall grass.

Both of them want to kick the door down. They argue about it with their eyes for a second before they start mouthing nasty names at each other, and eventually they just settle for the old favorite.

Dean always picks scissors.

Sam's long leg practically bursts through the wood. Birds cry and fly away in a flash of fluttering wings. There's feathers everywhere. Feathers and bones.

"Dude," Dean says, kicking at a small bone on the floor. "Is this...?"

"Chicken bone," Sam confirms.

"Think there's any more chickens?" Dean sounds hopeful. Sam is almost sorry to crush his brother's dreams.

"Dean, do you _hear_ any more chickens?"

Dean kicks at the cracked concrete floor like a four-year-old who's just been tricked out of a cookie. Sam gives him a patronizing pat on the back. Dean shrugs his hand away.

"Don't touch me, Sam-"

"Dude, what's up with that cat?"

There's a cat in the corner of the barn, and he's long and mangy, hissing and scratching at a bundle of tarps piled haphazardly next to the wall.

Dean begins to shrug, then brightens. "Chicken?"

Sam snorts at his brother's one-track mind, but goes forward willingly. Hell, if there is a chicken under there...

Dean shoos the cat away with a gentle foot. He isn't so cautious with the tarp however, choosing to yank it away from the floor with a grand flourish.

The child under the tarp is half-clothed. There's dried blood around his mouth and smudges of dirt smattering his pale freckled skin. He looks up at the brothers with green eyes. The resemblance hits Sam like an anvil out of a cartoon sky.

"Huh." Dean says, blinking in surprise. "Hey, kid. You okay?"

The kid looks between them, first at their guns, then at their faces. His eyes linger on Dean.

"I, uh...ate the last chicken," he says, almost apologetically.

Sam is paralyzed. He doesn't feel it when his brother elbows him in the side, just notes that he moves a bit with the pressure.

"You eat it raw?" Dean asks the kid, who nods. "I think you can get something bad that way...Sam?" Sam doesn't respond. "_Sammy_?"

"Salmonella," Sam finally says absently and his heart jolts at the way the kid smirks.

"It was worth the risk."

When Dean smirks, it's like pressing rewind for a millisecond. "Yeah, it would be."

Silence falls over them. Sam doesn't know what to think. Especially because Dean is smirking at the kid and the kid is smirking back at him and it's like they've known each other for years.

"You gonna shoot me?" the mini-Dean asks.

"Nah, we don't shoot kids."

"Did you shoot the scary lady inside?"

"Yeah, we shot her."

"Is she dead?"

"Yeah...but not because we shot her."

Dean holds out a hand to help the kid to his feet. The kid ignores the proffered aid, shoves himself up to a standing position. Sam notes the way the boy's eyes skirt around the room before they click back to attention.

"I went right through her."

Sam blinks. "Are you okay?"

The boy shrugs. "I mean...it was really freaky. And cold. But I'll get over it."

He doesn't ask any more about the 'scary lady'. Dean asks him where his parents are and he says something about them being back soon, which is clearly a lie. This kid doesn't have parents. Parents don't let their kids eat raw chicken, or leave them under tarps wearing ripped clothing in creepy Montana barns with hissing feral cats.

"We'll stay with you until they get back," Sam says.

"No. You don't have to." The boy's tone has turned terse and cold, as if Sam's offer was just a bit too presumptuous. "I'll be fine."

Dean snorts. "You're like seven years old...we can't just leave you here."

"Hey, buddy, I'll have you know that I'm at least nine. Maybe ten."

The Winchesters' eyebrows flee upwards at that statement and the kid suddenly looks very uncomfortable, as if he knows he's let something slip. He runs a small hand through his hair and dust rises from it. Sam notices for the first time that the boy's hair is blonde. Just like Dean's used to be.

"You're small," Dean tells the kid.

"_You're_ small," the kid shoots back.

Sam realizes that there's no possible way that this is going to progress into anything resembling an adult conversation. So he interjects. "Can we ask you what your name is?"

"You can ask."

Fucking smart ass kid.

"Okay..." Sam swallows down some irritation. "What's your name?"

"Who's asking?"

"I'm Sam." He jerks his head in Dean's direction. "The small guy is Dean."

"Hey-" Dean's voice is full of heat and Sam has the feeling the next words are going to be something not prime for a 9-year-old's ears.

"Alec," the kid offers readily.

Sam barely restrains his self-satisfied smile. Yep, Sam Winchester knows how to talk to kids. You just give them a hint of affirmation and they melt in your hands like butter. Dad never got that. Dean never quite got that, either.

"So, Alec, we're just gonna stay here with you until your parents come back, okay?" Sam sets his gun down. Dean follows suit.

The kid heaves a tremendous sigh. "No. You're going to go."

Sam glances at Dean, who is glancing back. Dean looks half-amused, half-offended.

"Kid, we're not going anywhere. So why don't we just-"

Alec throws his arms up in the air in frustration. "You know, I actually kinda like you guys. Well _you're_ alright, anyway, I guess." He looks pointedly at Dean. Sam tucks his bottom lip into his mouth to keep from pouting. "But I don't have the patience for this good citizen thing you've got going on. I trust you about as far as I can throw you and...hey, you know what? I must trust you a little..."

Sam's not sure what happens, but all of a sudden Dean is flying into the wall of the barn.

"Alec, what the-"

But Sam doesn't get the words out. His head hurts from the dusty concrete it just made contact with. He hears Dean moan. He feels little hands searching his pockets.

"Alec..."

"I'm sorry..." the kid's voice is small. "I think... you guys might be alright. I just...he looks...I don't know you."

Sam tries to open his eyes, but all he sees is black.

"I'm sorry." The kid's voice is distant now. "I'm sorry I can't trust you. You'll wake up soon."

"What...what are-"

Unconsciousness creeps over Sam before he can get the _you_ out.


	2. NonAlcoholic Wild Turkey

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Two: Non-Alcoholic Wild Turkey_

* * *

Alec is staring in the face of a wild turkey. It's not like the chicken, though. With the chicken he was half-mad with starvation and only too happy to break the hen's neck, tear the feathers out of the still-quivering body. This turkey is big and honestly, just a little bit scary. And Alec doesn't feel like eating it.

He feels sick to his stomach. He's never really felt sick to his stomach before. He's felt his bones broken, his arms and legs clinically crushed and snapped. He's felt a drill go into his skull, needles injected into every portion of his young skin.

But he's never felt sick to his stomach.

_It's really kind of a weird sensation_, he thinks. He feels it coming, and before he knows it, there's a putrid mess flying out of his mouth and hitting the grass. He clutches his stomach and sobs. Tears run down his face. He remembers the last time he cried.

The last time he cried, one of the guards hit him in the face and told him to stop crying.

Alec stops crying. Soldiers don't cry.

He smells it before he feels it. And he starts crying again.

The turkey watches him with doleful eyes as he strips off his already torn pants. He wants to tell it to stop looking at him. He wants to tell it that this has never happened before. He wants to tell it.

Alec doesn't eliminate in his pants. Soldiers don't shit themselves.

There's blood in his stool and he bites his lip hard to stop himself from sobbing further. He tries to wipe them clean against the ground, but grass just sticks to the waste.

He wonders where the others are. He wonders if Ben made it over the fence.

Alec takes a moment to curse his own survival while another wave of nausea overtakes him. He pukes and shits. He stumbles, sobbing over to relatively cleaner grass and falls down, curls up.

He is naked and tiny and the weather is getting colder. The turkey doesn't bother him. He's glad he didn't eat it. It's food, but it doesn't deserve to die. Not right now. Not when Alec isn't hungry - not when Alec's head is resting in a pool of his own vomit.

He shivers. He can't stop shivering. He wonders where the others are. He wonders if Ben, if anybody, made it over the fence.

_Salmonella._

Alec reaches over and fishes through his pants for the two wallets he lifted yesterday. Those two guys...Dean, the one who looked exactly like him. And Sam. Sam was the one who kept staring, blinking, unable to believe what was right in front of his eyes.

They had no idea, Alec realizes now. He opens a wallet, pulls out a driver's license.

Sam Winchester is twenty-six years old.

He opens the other wallet.

Dean Winchester is thirty years old.

Brothers. Alec knows about brothers like he knows about sisters. He'd seen a sister take a bullet. He'd seen brothers run and run, evading the barrage of shots, hands on each other's backs, pulling one another behind trees. It was like a free for all in the end there, but it wasn't exactly like a free for all.

It was definitely a free for all for Alec. Alec isn't a brother, has never been a brother. His unit isn't like Ben's unit. There isn't any sibling bond in Alec's unit, only a mechanical camaraderie.

_This is your unit. You stay with your unit._

Alec remembers the first time he saw Ben. Alec remembers wandering into the shower, the shower that looked just like Alec's shower, like all the showers at Manticore. He remembers how it looked like steel and smelled like steel and water and not at all like children.

They stood tiny and naked and silent under the falling water that cascaded down their shoulders, down their backs, to their bare little feet. They stood at attention, just like all the other units. Every unit looked the same in the shower. In the shower, you never saw anybody's face. Ever.

But Ben had turned around and seen Alec and Alec had seen Ben and it had been a mirror. The standing guard had come back then, coffee in hand, realized that there were twins in the same room. He had dragged Alec out by the arm, thrown him back where he belonged. With his own unit.

_You stay with your unit._

Alec throws up where he lays, vomit projecting a foot in front of him, only to come back, dribbling down the grass and into his hair. It pools around his head. The smell is terrible. Alec throws up again.

He shits again.

He cries again.

The turkey is gone. The turkey disappeared. Alec is glad because he doesn't want to eat the turkey anymore. He just wants this to stop. He won't ever eat another bird again, for as long as he lives. He swears. He just wants this to stop.

* * *

Dean can't understand why Sam is still going on about that fucking kid.

"Why are you still going on about that fucking kid, Sam?" he asks, balling up the empty bag of Funyuns and tossing it into the backseat. He's letting Sam drive. He hardly ever lets Sam drive, but he's tired, and he had mistakenly come to the conclusion that allowing his baby brother the wheel would keep conversation about that fucking kid to a minimum.

""He looked just like _you_, Dean. For the last _time_, he looked just like you. We can't just ignore a kid who looks just like you."

Dean rolls his eyes.

When Dean had regained consciousness, Sam had already been awake. Now Dean wishes that he had never opened his eyes. Seriously. It had been like that time, when he was fifteen and that girl had come over with a full belly demanding that Dean pay child support.

"For the last _time_, I didn't knock up any girl in Montana. I don't do freakishly strong chicks, either."

Dean is willing to admit it. Having a nine-year-old kick his ass? Hurts the pride. Just a little.

"You do freakishly bendy chicks," Sam reminds him.

"That is a completely different matter."

The kid was some kind of a mutant, or demon. That much is obvious. No kid kicks Dean Winchester's ass without some kind of help from the super-fucking-natural or radioactive goo.

"What if he-"

"No, Dean."

"Sam, I'm gonna have to insist that you stop interrupting my theories."

"I'm gonna have to insist that your theories stop involving radioactive goo."

Dean snorts. Sam knows him too well - but Hell, that's what you get for spending 4 years straight in a car with a guy. He doesn't really want to talk about anything other than radioactive goo, so he doesn't continue the conversation.

He tries to think about freakishly bendy chicks.

But his mind goes straight back to that fucking kid. That fucking kid with Dean's face. That fucking kid with the smart mouth and the kick ass moves. _We have to find him_, Sam had said, a large hand cradling his aching head. _We have to find Alec._

Alec. Half-naked Alec with a mouth covered in chicken blood.

He stares out the car window. There's nobody on these Montana back roads. It's just them, and the car, and the road. Sky and earth. It's been two days since they have seen Alec. They had gotten rid of the spirit, stayed in that dump of house two nights, waited for Alec to come back. Alec never came back.

So they're on the road again. And Dean is falling asleep.

He starts awake when his phone vibrates in his pants. He shuts the radio off before answering.

"Hello?"

"Is this Dean Winchester?"

"The one and only."

Dean is glad that he can admit to being himself again. The Pulse took down the economy. It also took down his police record. Took his face and name out of the system.

"Mr. Winchester, this is Marsha Stark at St. Francis Medical Center in Butte, Montana. Somebody brought your son in."

"My...son?"

"Yes. Well, we assume he's your son. He's not talking, but he had your wallet and he looks just like you..."

"Alec," Dean breathes. "Is he...?"

"He's going to be okay. He's severely dehydrated, but he's going to be okay. I assume you'll be here soon?"

Dean agrees. They'll be there soon.

* * *

They keep asking him where the barcode came from. They have on blue scrubs and pink scrubs and horrifically patterned scrubs and they keep calling him pet names like "sweetie" and "baby" and "doll" and reassuring him that everything's going to be okay. Then they ask him where the barcode came from.

Alec doesn't speak. If he speaks, his voice will waver. Never show fear. He can't ever show fear. He was not engineered to be afraid.

"Alec, honey, your daddy is in the waiting room."

Daddy? No. No, no, no. They'd put out a missing persons report. They'd mentioned his barcode. Lydecker has found him. He is going to go back and be punished and they'll do all sorts of things to him to make sure this never happens again. They might kill him. Or worse, put him in the basement with the anomalies.

"He's very eager to see you. He looks very worried."

Of course he does. They all know how to act at Manticore. The first thing Alec was ever taught was how to lie - because Alec is a secret. Because Ben is a secret. They are all secrets.

Alec makes to rip the IV out of his arm. The nurse is a moron. She's misjudging this move as childish enthusiasm - she thinks that Alec really just wants to see his daddy.

"Oh no, baby, don't do that! He'll be in in a second. You're not well enough yet!"

But Alec has already ripped the IV from his arm and he's up in a flash. He knocks the nurse over. Another one screams. He knocks her over, too, on his way out the door. These women are like pins and Alec is like a bowling ball. Alec knows all about bowling. Bowling is a sport for overweight men who can't move very fast.

Alec is a wild animal, a lost deer in a sea of people. He scurries and dodges, instinct and fear leading him through the hallways and into the waiting room. It's a shame the lack of fluid has left him without grace.

Someone manages to knock into him. He stumbles and his legs are like a fawn's, spindly and unmanageable. He falls into a pair of arms that grip him tight, squeeze him, refuse to let him go.

"Alec, stop fighting, dude. It's, uh...Uncle Sam. You remember me, right? Your Uncle Sam?"

Sam Winchester. The guy he'd left unconscious in the barn. Sam Winchester is 26 years old and a brother.

"Uncle Sam...?" Alec pants.

"Yeah, kiddo. It's me. You remember me, right?" Sam's long hair tickles the side of Alec's face when the man leans in, whispers in his ear. "Just play along? We can get you out of here, okay?"

Alec doesn't trust Sam Winchester. He doesn't run, though, when the man's arms loosen around him. He knows Sam doesn't know anything. He still remembers the look of astonishment that had graced the man's face in the barn, the way Sam had looked between Dean and Alec like he couldn't believe his eyes.

"Uncle Sam?" Alec asks again.

"Yeah, buddy. It's me."

Sam's voice is gentle and understanding. Alec turns around to face him, takes in the warm blue-grey eyes and the soft face, blinks.

"We were worried." Sam sounds sincere. Alec feels a big hand on his back, feels it push him in, and the next thing he knows he's pressed against this man's chest. Alec doesn't know what to do. Instinct takes over as his arms wrap around Sam's neck and suddenly he's really high up, far off the ground, still planted firmly in Sam's arms.

"Tall enough, are you?" Alec asks. He speaks into Sam's neck. His whole body vibrates as the man chuckles. Alec feels like sleeping, even though he never feels like sleeping. Alec doesn't sleep.

"Sam? Alec..."

Dean. Alec hears the frantic note in Dean's voice as he explains the wreckage he just came across, fallen nurses who weren't even all that hot.

People are watching them. Sam asks him if he wants to go to his dad.

The exchange is natural. Sam and Dean know how to act, too, and Dean's eyes are filled with warmth and worry as he holds out his arms to intercept Alec.

"You okay, little dude?"

"I'm fine, Daddy."

People melt around them. They're dirty and homeless and they still melt around them. Doctors and nurses and even nurses that Alec just pushed over melt around them.

Alec stays quiet as the three of them are led into a room. Sam and Dean come up with some kind of tale about how Alec had been left with his mother. They'd left him the wallets as tokens - so Alec would always have a piece of them around.

"Alec...why were you so far from home?"

Alec is quick on his feet. Or his ass, rather, which is planted in Dean's lap. "Mom left me..." His eyes well up with tears. "I just w-wanted to find Daddy and Uncle Sam...we didn't have a phone and I didn't have any...any change..."

Alec is very good at making himself cry. These people are eating it up and they're quick to tell him that he'll be going home with his daddy and Uncle Sam very soon. They're so set on making him feel better that they forget to ask about the barcode.

They release him on the conditions that he drinks plenty of fluids and stays in bed. Sam makes him apologize to the fallen nurses on the way out. He does, though stiffly, and Sam adds in an extra apology and has to elbow Dean in order to get him to do the same.

It all seems so natural and Alec is still running a fever. He almost forgets that it isn't real.

Dean carries him to the car, puts him in the back seat with a blanket and a pillow. It isn't until they start the car that the questions start.

"So, Alec...what the hell are you?"

Alec decides then and there that he kind of misses the nurses and their hideous shirts and their pet names.


	3. Water & Toast

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Three: Water & Toast_

* * *

Plastic bags litter the floor of the car. Alec is lying down in the back, his face behind the driver's seat, and he counts ten packages, yellow and empty, on this side alone. The pillow under his head is flat from years of use, but the blanket covering his tiny frame is warm and soft.

"You ready to answer yet, kid?" Dean asks.

It's been an hour since they left the hospital and Alec hasn't said a word. He keeps waiting for Dean to pull over and drop him off on the side of the road, but Dean doesn't and Sam doesn't tell him to. Alec doesn't understand these guys. He really doesn't.

"Guess not," Dean mutters.

Alec feels Sam's eyes on him, but he keeps his own gaze aimed determinedly on the back of Dean's seat. He's not going to give in to a look. It's not that he doesn't want to talk - he does. Alec often got himself in trouble at Manticore for being garrulous. Sometimes he would talk just to hear himself talk.

_You're impudent, 494._

Impudent. Alec remembers looking the word up in the dictionary. Of, pertaining to, or characterized by impertinence or effrontery.

_You're a smart aleck_, Ben had whispered late into the night, the moon shining through the barred windows of the dormitory. _We don't go by our designations in my unit. We have names. I'll call you Alec from now on._

"Alec?" Sam asks. "Alec, you hungry?"

"Hey, that's a plan," Dean says brightly. "Kid, we'll feed you if you talk."

Alec hears rather than sees the smack Sam lands upside his brother's head.

"We're not starving a nine-year-old, Dean."

"It was just an idea..."

"Yeah. A terrible idea."

"I'm not hungry." The words leave Alec's mouth before he can stop them, but it's true. He isn't hungry. His stomach is still sore and near-reeling and this little argument between Sam and Dean isn't helping all that much.

And they're not talking anymore. Alec feels slightly proud of himself for catching them off-guard.

"You should at least have some dry toast or something," Sam finally says. "Dean, next time you see a place-"

"You got money?"

"No, but you do. He's a sick, dehydrated kid. We need to get something in his stomach that's not gonna make him hurl."

"Why is it always-"

"You're always saying you're the oldest."

Dean responds with high pitched mimicking sounds. Alec can't help himself. He laughs.

Sam snaps his head back, glare firmly in place. "Okay…he's the one who wants to _starve_ you."

"But he's funny," Alec insists.

"He is _not_-"

"Stop arguing with the kid, Sammy. He's sick."

"Yeah, I'm sick."

Sam huffs. Alec smirks to himself. He likes Sam. Sam's a good guy.

"Alec?" Dean actually uses his name, and this time, he's not acting or stating it like 'Alec' is some kind of a ruse. "Who put that barcode on you, dude?"

Alec doesn't respond.

"We're not going to hurt you. If we were gonna do that, we would've done it a long time ago."

Alec fidgets. The leather squeaks under him.

"Fact is, you look like me. Just like me, actually, and I don't think that's your fault, but you gotta admit, man, it's kinda weird. Aren't you a little freaked out by it?"

Alec throws the blanket over his head.

"It freaks me out. You're a kid with my face and you have a barcode on the back of your neck. You're a kid. You're not merchandise. And I know…you're some kind of freak. You're all strong and shit- ow! Dude, Sam, did you just pinch me?"

"He's nine years old, Dean."

"He said he might be ten."

"He's a little kid. You don't swear around little kids!"

"Fine. Where was I?" Alec counts ten seconds as Dean gets his thoughts together. "I know you're all strong and…stuff. And that's cool. It's good to be strong even if it is weird as hell when you're like four feet tall."

"M'four foot two," Alec grumbles.

"Yeah? Tall guy, aren't you?" Alec resists the urge to get up and hit Dean. "Anyway, you know. It's okay to be a freak. Sam and I are freaks, too. More so Sam, but you know…" Dean trails off. Alec waits for him to continue, but he never does.

Alec takes the blanket off his head, settles into a more relaxed position. He's never met people like Sam and Dean before – people who inflict violence upon each other without any true intention to do harm. And Dean…Alec does look exactly like Dean. Like Ben.

_We're brothers_, Ben had told him. _We're brothers by blood. We come from the same genetic makeup. I don't know if that means anything to you…but it means something to me._

_

* * *

_

Sam asks Dean to stop by a Goodwill before they head into a diner. Alec is still in his hospital gown and Dean agrees readily.

"Kid needs pants," the elder Winchester grunts. He pops open the driver side door. "Be back in a jiff."

Sam is left in the car with Alec, who is curled up in the backseat, looking small and pale.

"Alec? How're you feeling, buddy?"

"Okay."

"Yeah? That's good." But the kid really doesn't look okay. He looks like Dean when Dean is sick and Sam just can't take that. So he does something he's never able to do when Dean is sick. "Hey, uh, I'm just gonna reach back and feel your head, okay? I just want to see if you have a fever."

The kid is warm, and it only takes a second for Alec to get irritated and swipe at Sam's hand.

"You're warm."

"Am not."

"You are-" Sam stops himself, sighs. It's not worth it right now. He has a hard enough time when trying to convince _adult_ Dean of something.

"Why are you doing this?"

Sam doesn't know what to tell him. He could say that they'd do it for anyone, but that would be a lie. They've never picked anyone up before, not a single person.

"You're just a kid," Sam offers after a moment too long. Alec's just a kid with Dean's face.

"Just a kid who knocked you unconscious and stole all your money," Alec retorts.

"You're pretty spry for being so small," Sam agrees.

Alec sits up. Probably too fast, Sam notes, because the kid looks damn queasy.

"Why would you do this for someone who knocked you unconscious and stole all your money?"

"You look like Dean."

"But I'm not Dean."

"But you look like him."

The boy casts his eyes downwards, chews his bottom lip. Sam is hit with the sudden memory of his father and the rules he used to drill into them, and the expression on Dean's face when he was contemplating breaking one of those rules.

"Why do you think I look like him?" Alec finally asks.

"Who was your mother?" Sam replies.

"He didn't father me, if that's what you're thinking…"

"Who was your mother?" Sam persists.

"I didn't have a mother. I had an oven."

"What does that-"

Dean interrupts the inquiry by opening the car door and throwing a bag of clothes back at Alec. Sam doesn't take his eyes from the boy, who is looking conflicted and scared and confused.

"Get dressed, kid. We won't look."

Alec starts rifling through the plastic bag, pulls out a pair of jeans. Dean hits Sam in the shoulder.

"Stop being a perv, Sam."

Sam glares at his brother, but turns around in his seat. He looks out the window, ready to point out the first eatery they come by.

"They promised me they were clean," Dean says.

"You said you weren't going to look," Alec replies. Sam raises his eyebrow at the matter-of-fact tone – Alec doesn't sound at all like he cares that Dean looked.

"I wouldn't have if you had been getting dressed. You're not getting dressed."

"I'd be getting dressed if you hadn't bought me some other kid's underwear…with this freaky pattern on it."

Sam turns around and grins at the pair of Bob the Builder underwear Alec is holding up.

"Tough. You're gonna have to deal with it for now," Dean says. "You can pick out your own next time."

Alec's eyes go wide at that statement. He mouths the words. _Next time_. Sam suddenly feels like he's invading a private moment and turns around. Dean stares at the road, unaware of what he just said. Sam looks out the window again, keeping his eyes pinned for non-foreclosed food services, listening to the soft sounds of fabric and the squeaking of leather from the backseat as Alec changes.

"What's A-C-D-C?" Alec stumbles over the letters.

Dean almost swerves off the road, he's so surprised. Sam looks back again, feels both surprised and unsurprised at the fact that Alec is now sporting a tiny AC/DC tee and a pair of jeans. An oversized black hoodie and the discarded hospital gown lay off to his side.

"Dean. He already looks like you. Do you really have to…" Sam trails off when his brother's hand raises to stop him. Dean looks like he's trying to catch his breath.

"Kid," the words finally come, sounding both firm and kind. "I have so much to teach you."

* * *

Alec is warm weight in Dean's arms. He mumbles that he's too big to be carried, but Dean ignores him. Kid got hit with vertigo the second he stood on his own two feet, swayed unsteadily with the onset of nausea. And Dean had picked him up without thinking.

"I'm ten, damn it."

"You said you might be nine. That's still in the single digits." Dean is defensive. He's not given to sudden displays of affection. Kid's got him all twisted up. "Who the hell doesn't know their own birthday, anyway?"

"They didn't tell us stuff like that."

"Who didn't?"

"I want toast."

Dean snorts. It's pretty bad as far as verbal evasion goes, but it's cute. So cute, in fact, that Dean is willing to let the question go. For now.

"What happened to starving him until he told us the truth?" Sam asks, trailing them into the diner.

"I want toast, too," Dean says. "You want some toast, Sammy?"

They eat toast. Dean and Sam watch as Alec takes small bites. Alec tells them to stop looking at him, and they do. For about thirty seconds.

"Drink more water," Sam suggests, watching Alec play with his straw.

"I don't want-"

"Drink more water," Dean orders.

Alec drinks more water. Dean watches him. He knows the kid probably feels uncomfortable with the way he isn't getting any privacy, but Dean can't really get over it. Every inch of this kid is him.

"What's your mother's name?"

Alec drinks more water.

Sam swallows a piece of toast, answers with nonchalance, "Alec didn't have a mother. He had an oven."

Dean narrows his eyes at his little brother. "I see you've already asked this question…and what in the fuck does that mean?"

"I don't know. And don't use that word around him."

Alec blows bubbles into his water with his straw. "Fuck is a bad word," he tells Dean.

Dean smirks. "I know."

"I know you know," Alec says. "Fuck and shit are bad words. Damn isn't a bad word, really, but it becomes blasphemous when you say 'god' in front of it. Bitches and bastards are the appointed words for things and people that exist, but have come to be used crudely over time."

Sam and Dean stare at him. Alec blows more bubbles into his water.

"So…you're like an encyclopedia or something?" Dean asks.

"No, but I've read one before."

Dean looks at Sam. Sam looks at Dean. They both look at Alec. Alec's gaze shifts steadily between them, though he's chewing his bottom lip and tapping his plastic cup with his fingers.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"Did you ever do something about ten years ago…take a test or something? Maybe went to a doctor for a physical. You might have gotten paid for it…"

Dean thinks. Ten years ago, he was twenty years old. When he was twenty years old, he hunted with Dad and watched Sammy. Why in the hell would he ever take a test or have a physical? And who pays for someone to take a test or have a physical, anyway?

"You gave me money that year to go on a field trip," Sam says. "You never told me where it came from."

"Field trip?" Dean is confused. How does Sam remember a field trip from ten years ago?

"You remember. The NASA field trip? It was like two hundred dollars and Dad wouldn't put out the money…"

Oh. Yeah. Sam, the geek who liked space. Dean remembers now. The research clinic. The drug trial. Healthy participants eighteen to forty years of age to try some crap protein pill.

"Did they take blood?" Alec asks, swirling his straw around. The ice is noisy as it clashes with the sides of the cup.

They took blood. They had him run on a treadmill.

"How about a skin biopsy?" Alec prods.

Okay, yeah. The skin biopsy had been weird, but Dean had three hundred dollars cash in hand that day – a nice split of two hundred for Sam's field trip and another hundred to coerce Francine Harris out of her skirt.

"What are you_ talking_ about?" Sam asks. "Dean, what is he talking about?"

"I did a drug trial."

"Figures," Alec says.

"No, you didn't. Dad wouldn't have let you."

"You think Dad knew?"

Dad hadn't known. The drug trial was one of the few things Dad hadn't known about Dean.

"Dude, they _cloned_ you." Sam sounds horrified and amazed.

Dean blinks. "What do you mean they…" He trails off, his eyes slanting towards Alec. The boy is looking out the window, not willing to look at them now. "You're my…" Clone. Alec is Dean's clone. Not his son. Dean didn't knock up some girl and leave her to a life of poverty and single parenthood. "You know, I have to say. This is a relief."

"What?" Sam obviously can't believe his ears.

Alec peers up at him. "It…is?"

"Yeah…you know. I can, like, harvest you for organs and stuff now."

"_Dean_."

But Alec laughs. Hysterically, in fact. And Dean grins, because the kid is laughing and not looking out the window like some forlorn Oliver Twist whose days of wealth and happiness are numbered.

"Alec, are you okay?" Sam looks concerned. Alec is still laughing. "Dean, he had a fever before…"

Alec's eyes are tearing up, but he manages to sober himself a little. "Harvesting organs is an amusing practice." Then he laughs again before upchucking all over Dean.

The Winchester table is awhirl with activity. Alec is apologizing and trying to keep the next round of vomit down. Dean is cursing at Sam for suggesting they get the kid something to eat. Sam is trying to assure Alec that everything is okay, that this isn't his fault, that Dean has more shirts. The waitress bustles over with a pitcher of water and a rag. She expresses an overt amount of worry about the "poor little boy."

Dean tries to assure her its okay as he slides himself out of the booth and reaches for Alec. He stops when his phone rings in his pants.

"Sam…take him to the bathroom?"

Sam nods, leads Alec away with a gentle hand. Dean answers his call.

"Mr. Winchester?"

"Uh…yeah?"

"This is Marsha Stark at St. Francis Medical Center in Butte, Montana."

"Oh, hey again, Marsha. How can I help you?"

"You're going to have to bring Alec back in."

"Excuse me?"

"You're going to have to bring Alec back in."

"Yeah, Marsha…that 'excuse me'? Less of a 'what' and more of a 'why'."

The voice on the other end of the line is crisp and cold. "A couple answered the missing persons report we put out on Alec shortly after you left. They say that Alec is theirs." Dean wonders what the diner put in that toast – it's feeling really heavy in his stomach about now. "Mr. Winchester?"

"Speaking," Dean snaps. "What makes you think they're telling the truth?"

"They provided documentation. Now, you're going to have to bring Alec back in or the police are going to be after you."

Dean curses and snaps the phone shut. Sam exits the bathroom, a pale Alec in his arms.

"Take him to the car," Dean tells his brother. Sam throws him a prissy look, but takes Alec to the car. Dean pays for their meal, looks out the window at his brother settling his clone into the backseat of his baby.

"Is your son going to be okay?" The woman at the counter cares. She really does.

"He will be. Food poisoning, you know?"

"It's hard eating safe these days."

"It is," Dean agrees. He tips the waitress as he walks out the door. She smiles coyly at him, but he doesn't notice. His ears are still ringing with the words "your son."

He gets into the car. Sam is half out of the passenger seat, arranging the blanket over Alec. Alec is shivering and moaning.

"I know you're sick, kid, but you have to tell us everything."

"Dean, I don't think now-"

"There's people at the hospital, Sam. They have _documentation_ saying that he's theirs."

Alec is up in a flash and going at the doors like a wild animal. For the first time in twenty years, Dean is glad that his father put those childproof locks in.

"Calm down, Alec."

"Alec, calm down."

It takes about thirty minutes of slow driving and dry heaving, but Alec calms down.

He tells them everything.


	4. Kitten

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Four - Kitten_

* * *

Sam isn't sure how he feels about this. It's one thing that he and his brother hunt ghosts and shit for a living, it's another thing altogether to do it while having a sick kid in the back seat - a sick kid who just happens to be a genetically engineered killing machine.

"I'm a genetically engineered killing machine," Alec says again.

"You said that already," Dean reminds him from the driver's seat. "You've said that five times, in fact."

"Then why am I still _here_?"

The boy's frustrated. He doesn't understand Dean. Sam gets that. Dean's pretty complicated considering he's such a simple guy.

"Why wouldn't you still be here?" Dean replies.

"Because I'm a genetically engineered-"

"-killing machine. Stop being a broken record, dude. That's not what we're made of."

Dean's already attached to the kid. Sam can tell. His big brother is looking at Alec the way he looks at Sam, like Alec belongs to him. Like Alec's always belonged to him.

"I'm not yours," Alec says. "You have no reason to keep me in this car with you. You have no reason not to return me where you found me."

"Why the fuck would we do that?" Dean asks, and Sam can tell his brother's patience is wearing thin. "You're a kid and they did horrible things to you. Why the fuck would we take you back to them?"

"You have no reason to trust me!"

"And you have no reason to trust us."

Alec groans and kicks the back of Sam's seat. Sam glances at his brother's profile, notes the wide eyes and the clenched jaw.

"Alec..." Dean growls. "This is confusing. I get that, okay? But if you're frustrated, you swear or something. Or, if you're really mad, hit Sam. You don't take it out on the car. You never take it out on the car. Understand?" A stony silence follows the question. Dean prods,"Alec?"

Reluctantly, "Yes, sir."

Dean takes a moment to process his own surprise at the familiar phrase but nods to himself. "Good boy."

Sam, however, can't believe what he's hearing. A long arm strikes out and a large hand smacks Dean upside the head. Dean strikes back, punching Sam in the shoulder with an irate fist.

"Dude, what's your problem?"

"You just told him to _hit me_ if he's frustrated."

"Yeah, so?"

"Better you than the car," Alec chirps from the back.

Dean grins, points a pleased thumb back at his little clone. "Good kid, isn't he?"

Sam groans, throws up his arms in his own frustration. He gives up, he really does.

They coast across Montana state lines. The drive is long, and the weather sucks - the rain drips, and then pelts, and then stops. Then it pelts again. Alec falls asleep, eventually, small hands wedged between his stomach and the Impala's leather and Sam forgets that the kid's a genetically-engineered killing machine, even kind of forgets that its his annoying brother's clone in the back seat of the car. Its just a kid, a sick kid with a hurting stomach, whose face is expressing pain even in his sleep.

"We should stop for the night, Dean. Alec should probably sleep in a bed."

"Yeah, probably."

"What are we going to do with him, anyway?"

Dean doesn't take his eyes from the road, even though Sam can tell he really wants to. Even in the dark, he can see his brother's hands tighten around the steering wheel.

"We're keeping him, Sam."

Sam sighs. "Yeah, I know."

The leather squeaks as his brother's body loses tension. "You...do?"

"Yeah."

"He's not really gonna hit you, you know."

"I know. He has your sense of humor."

Dean's bright smile glints in the darkness. "He does, doesn't he?"

"Yep. It's really unfortunate."

They stop at a seedy motel in Idaho. Sam wishes they had headed east, towards Bobby, but Dean had insisted that they get out of Montana state lines as quick as possible, and Sam had agreed. They don't really know how steadfast this "Manticore" crowd will be in their search for Alec, but they're not taking any chances.

Dean pays for the room. It's one bed, and there's no cot, but the Winchester brothers have sucked up their need for separation in these hard times - it won't be the first time in recent months that they've been stuck together in a bed.

"Alec's the barrier," Dean says decisively and Sam eases the little boy down onto the center of the mattress.

"What if he has to go to the bathroom?"

"He'll just have to crawl over you, then, won't he?"

Sam curses under his breath as Dean snickers to himself. They lower themselves into the bed, careful of Alec, and close their eyes. They fall asleep without another word.

* * *

Alec awakens to the sounds of soft breathing and a comfortable weight on the small of his back. The grogginess passes over him within a minute and he blinks, surprised with the knowledge that he's been asleep. Alec never sleeps.

Sam's face is the first thing to come into focus, his expression mellifluous with the quiet rhythm of his breathing under the mop of dark hair. Sam's hair is long. Alec kind of wants to touch it. Nobody at Manticore had long hair.

_Hair is a strategically unsound accessory,_ Lydecker had informed them, and pictures had flashed across the screen. Pictures of hair caught in fingers and pulled taut, knives placed at the scalp. Pictures of hair and scalp separated from skulls, hanging from tree branches like trophies.

Alec remembers lining up single file at the end of each month, pair after pair of small feet waiting to march themselves to the chair, the chair each child left with a freshly shorn head.

Alec isn't sure how his fingers come to touch the tips of Sam's bangs, or how they come to twine themselves around the ends of the smooth tresses, but they do. He feels the hair between his fingers and his mouth falls open in wonder.

Sam's eyelids flutter. Alec jerks his hand away, forgetting their current position, and Sam flinches and curses at the rough pull, blue-green eyes batting furiously to focus.

"Alec?" Alec winces internally at the tone. "What the hell'd you do that for?"

The weight on Alec's back lifts and the thin mattress shifts beneath him as Dean stirs on his other side. "Sam? What-"

"Alec pulled my hair."

"M'sorr-"

"Don't apologize to him, kid. S'not your fault he has girl hair."

Sam glares at Dean over the top of Alec's head. "Of _course_ you would encourage this."

"M'not encouraging anything, Sam. Now, why don't you stop whining and go take a shower or something before _I_ decide to pull your goddamn hair?"

Sam huffs, but he throws his long legs off the side of the bed and tromps off to the bathroom. Alec doesn't turn to face Dean, but he feels a hand on his neck and then his cheek and then his head. He bats the hand away.

"And you call _him_ a girl?" he asks indignantly.

"I didn't call him a girl. I said he had girl hair."

"Same thing."

Dean snorts. "Yeah. It really is." The silence is long. The walls are thin. They hear Sam shuffling around in the bathroom. The water turns on. The pipes moan and rattle in the walls.

Alec turns onto his other side, where Dean's eyes are there to meet him with a steady gaze.

"You feelin' better?"

Alec _is_ feeling better. He nods.

"That radioactive goo gets you over salmonella poisoning pretty quick I guess."

"Stop calling my cat DNA radioactive goo. It's neither radioactive, nor goo."

Dean's mouth twists into a broad grin. "Goo."

Alec is tempted to punch him, but he doesn't. Instead, he asks, "D'you think Sam's mad at me?"

"Nah. He's just a bitch in the morning...and in the afternoon...and y'know, at night and stuff." Dean reaches over and ruffles Alec's hair. Alec is pleased, but he bats at the hand anyway. "So, like...we didn't get too much into the cat DNA bit yesterday."

"Maybe that's because you were too busy calling it radioactive goo."

"Yeah, well..." Dean reaches back. Alec hears the jingle of keys as Dean pulls them off the night stand.

"Where're we going?"

"Nowhere." Dean suspends the keys over Alec's face and shakes them. Alec blinks. Dean persists.

"What are you..."

"You have _cat_ DNA, dude."

"So you're...aw, c'mon!" Alec hopes that his disgust is plain on his face, because, really...he's disgusted. It only makes it worse part of him knows that this action is something that he, too, would find humor in...if it wasn't at his own expense. "_Sam_!" Alec has a set of lungs on him when he wants to use them, and Dean jumps as Sam rushes out of the bathroom, dripping wet with a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Wha-"

Alec launches himself off the bed, and his arms are suddenly latched around Sam's middle. He peers up at the tall man with imploring eyes.

"Dude, did you see how _fast_ he is?" Dean wonders in tones of deep awe.

"What is going_ on_?"

"Dean's making fun of my cat DNA!"

Sam looks unsure of how to deal with this, and really, Alec's surprised at his own reaction. He's not one for touching people he doesn't know. Actually, he's not one for touching people at all, but this seems like a decent manipulation tactic. Harmless, yet undoubtedly effective.

He feels a hand pat his head. "It's okay, Alec. Dean makes fun of me all the time."

"But-"

"In fact, you've been helping him a lot as of late."

"Well, it's funny when it's_ you_..."

Sam rolls his eyes, runs his hand down the back of Alec's head. "Yeah. It's funny when it's _me_." Alec digs his feet into the ground as the man pushes him away. He feels slightly indignant that this plan didn't work. "I'm going back to my shower. Don't yell like that again unless it's an emergency."

Alec opens his mouth to protest, but Sam has already disappeared inside the bathroom, the door clicking firmly shut behind him.

"Didn't go quite like you expected, huh, kid?" The smirk on Dean's face both delights and irritates Alec, though he doesn't understand why. He shakes his head in response to the question. "You really think Sam would kick my ass for you?" Alec shrugs. Dean grins. "He might try, actually...though, he'd never succeed."

"_I_ could kick your ass."

Dean gives him a considering look. "Yeah, kitten, you probably could. Why don't you?"

"Because you don't bite the hand that feeds you. And don't call me kitten."

Dean's grin broadens. "Sure thing. Kitten." He pauses, soaking in Alec's glare with unrestrained mirth. "Now, why don't you show me that speed again?"

Alec judges the distance to the bed, cocks an eyebrow at Dean. "I could jump from here to there."

Dean chuckles. "You could not. That's impossible."

Alec flashes a set of gleaming white teeth at his wellspring of superior genes. "Wanna bet?"

"How much?"

"How much you got?"

Uneasiness flashes across Dean's face, replaced instantly with a bold determination. Alec almost dances with glee as the man reaches for his wallet. He's really glad these two walked into the barn that day. They're hilarious _and_ they're easy money.

* * *

Dean's just a little pissed that he lost five bucks to a nine-year-old, but he'll get over it soon. Hell, the kid can jump. Like a cat, really. And it's freaking amazing. A lot of things about this kid are amazing.

"And this is Led Zeppelin," Dean says, shoving the cassette into the player with one hand while driving with the other. "Led Zeppelin is very important."

"Why are they important?"

"Because they just are. Some things are just important, Alec. That's one of the things you have to learn now that you're a real boy."

"Things aren't important without reason," Alec disagrees. "Why is Led Zeppelin important?"

Dean opens his mouth to respond, but Sam interjects, "Because Dean glorifies everything that he likes. Led Zeppelin is important to Dean. They don't have to be important to you, too."

"Are they important to you?"

"No."

"Well, what's important to you?"

Sam shuts up, which kind of worries Dean, but he throws in a save before the kid can start asking more questions.

"What's important to you, kitten?" Dean looks in the rearview. Alec holds his crisp morning winnings taut between two hands. "Yeah, I thought so. M'gonna teach you how to play pool next time we stop by a bar."

"You can't take a nine-year-old into a bar, Dean."

"Says you."

Sam huffs. Sammy's always huffing these days, but that's okay with Dean. Soon they'll be out of Idaho and Sam can huff some more when they stop to get Funyuns and some gas, which Sam will siphon out of another car.

They drive for several miles in silence, listening to Led Zeppelin's self-titled debut album. Alec bounces in the back seat and hums along, and Dean smirks to himself. Kid's full of energy when he's not sick as a dog. Or cat. Or whatever.

The phone in the glove compartment rings.

Alec stops bouncing. Dean turns down the volume. "I thought you got rid of your phones?"

"We did, Alec. It's another phone." Sam rifles through papers and weapons and shit, and by the time he finds the damn thing, its stopped ringing.

"The hospital doesn't have that number, though, right?"

"That's right."

"Bobby?" Dean asks. Sam nods. "I guess Alec's gonna have to learn the job faster than anticipated."

"What job?" Alec asks.

Dean exchanges a grim look with his brother.

Alec persists, "And who's Bobby?"

Dean feels kind of bad about this. Kid's weird ass life is about to get a hell of a lot weirder.


	5. Funyuns & Hare

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Five - Funyuns & Hare_

_

* * *

_

The water blankets Alec's bare feet, gentle and lukewarm, pushed forward by the wind. He cocks his head up and back, looks at Sam who is standing close behind him. Sam is a giant.

"How is bathing in lake water going to make me clean again?"

"It couldn't hurt."

Alec shrugs, accepts the bar of soap from Sam's outstretched hand. They can't afford a place tonight, so they're "camping." Camping in Wyoming. Alec told them that Wyoming wasn't safe, but they replied that nowhere was safe. They can't go back through Montana again, not right now.

"Montana's a big state," Alec mumbles now.

"So is Wyoming," Sam replies. He sounds like he's out of patience. Alec can understand that - they've had this conversation at least twenty times since the decision was made.

He starts to undress. Sam stays where he is.

"I don't need you to watch me, you know," Alec tells him, his head halfway through his shirt. "I can swim."

Sam grabs the shirt with big hands, eases it off. "You can?"

Alec nods, ascertains, "Better than you."

Sam rolls his eyes. "You're cocky like Dean, too."

Sam tells Alec that he'll be right over there, helping Dean set up some shelter, and Alec should yell if he needs them. Alec throws the man a disdainful look. Sam lumbers off.

The lake water is gross. Lake water's always gross but Alec submerges himself anyway, runs the soap over his skin. He doesn't like this, but Sam and Dean keep insisting that they're in charge, so Alec keeps following their orders. Orders like_ Go take a bath, Alec. In the lake._

"Fuck the lake," Alec mumbles. There're fish in the lake. Fish and snakes and leeches. Alec hates fish and snakes and leeches.

And he doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to be in Wyoming, in the woods. There's trees, everywhere, and he's attuned to every bird in every tree, every rustling leaf, every crunch of grass. Anyone could be out here.

"Alec."

Alec's heart practically explodes in his chest. He whirls around in the water.

It's Dean. Just Dean, looking at Alec with crossed arms and raised eyebrows.

"Sam says you can swim?"

Alec swallows before he scowls. "What is it with you two? I've been a soldier since birth. Of _course_ I can swim."

Dean throws two hands out in defense. "Well, you know...sor_ry_ for being a little iffy about leaving a nine-year-old alone in the water." Alec watches the man turn around. Dean takes a few steps before he stops, throws something else over his shoulder, "And lose the bitchface, kid. People might start thinking your _Sam's_ clone."

Alec feels a little bad watching Dean walk away, but honestly, he doesn't want to be here. Wyoming woods are literally the last place he wants to be right now. Well, Wyoming woods or that hospital in Montana they're so adamantly avoiding.

Alec sighs and starts making quick work of scrubbing his skin. The sooner he can get out of this water and back to Sam and Dean and the small camp they've set up, the safer he'll feel. He'll never admit to this, of course, because they already treat him like a dependent little kid...but if Manticore finds him, its best that he's with Sam and Dean. They have heavy artillery in the trunk of their car. Alec's seen it.

The leaves rustle from somewhere behind him, in the direction where Sam and Dean _aren't_, and Alec stills. He turns around and the water waves gently around him, as if he's nothing more than a slight breeze. His eyes ravage the far-off brush for movement and he hears a crunch of grass and the leaves move again and Alec freaks the fuck out, and goes under.

Tiny ugly fish swim by his face and he wonders how it is that his internal thoughts have already turned so vulgar, having spent all of three full days with Sam and Dean. Well, Dean...Dean is a bad influence and Alec is his clone. He should have guessed that something like this would have happened to his vocabulary sooner or later.

He doesn't know how long he's underwater but it seems like hundreds of fish swim by, and there's at least a few snakes and he kind of wants to capture one of the snakes and put it in Sam's bag despite any earlier repulse.

Four minutes, boring as hell, and he's thinking that's it time to brave it, whatever "it" is, when about thirty feet away, a body plummets into the water.

Words like _shit_ and _fuck_ and _cuntsucker_ are going through his head as he writhes around, and this is all Dean's fault.

A second body plummets into the water. Alec drops the soap, makes to swim away, but his moment of fear-induced paralysis was just a little too long and something's got him by the waist, is pulling him in and up and now he's breathing air.

He's writhing and yelling and kicking.

"Alec..."

The voice is soft. Alec's arms are flying out. He's gonna snap this guy's neck. He's gonna-

"_Alec_!"

It's Sam. Sam's got him.

Dean's on the shore, dripping pale and wet. Sam lets Alec go, but pushes him with a light hand to where Dean is standing.

"You weren't coming up," Sam says, once they're both on their feet, on solid ground, and he's blinking and looking confused and kind of like someone died.

"How long were you under there?" Dean demands to know.

Alec shakes his hair, flinging muck and water. "Four minutes...maybe? I don't know. I could've gone a little longer. If it weren't for, y'know, the rude interruption..."

"What the fuck were you-"

"Dean, don't swear at him...Alec, why were you under there?"

"I _heard_ something." Alec nods to the brush on the other side of the lake. "Over there. So I took cover."

Dean grunts. There's a towel on a nearby tree branch. Alec recognizes it from the motel. He almost grins, thinking that its nice that these guys are into petty thievery, but then Dean's snapping the towel off of the branch and roughly wrapping it around Alec's body.

"Dean?"

But Dean's already walking away.

Alec looks up at Sam. "What's up with him?"

Sam shrugs, offers a small smile. "Dean, uh...doesn't like being scared, Alec. And he's emotionally repressed."

"He's mad at me?"

Sam doesn't answer. He picks up Alec's still-dry clothes and tucks them under an arm, pushing Alec forward with his hand.

"Let's go wash your hair."

"With what?"

"Shampoo and bottled water."

"That's not an economically-sound plan at all, Sam."

"I know."

Dean doesn't talk to him for a very long time. He goes to the opposite side of the lake, is gone for two hours and Alec's in a panic, because if its them, if its Manticore, they'll kill Dean. They won't even let him talk. They'll just kill him. He tries to tell Sam this through harried breaths but Sam just runs a soothing hand over Alec's head, tells him that Dean will be fine, that Dean's always fine.

Dean's fine. He comes back with a shotgun slung over his shoulder, a dead hare dangling limp from his hand.

"You killed a bunny?" Sam looks surprised.

"I might have cried a little," Dean admits. The look he shoots at the dead thing in his hand is quick and Alec sees him cringe. "Poor little guy."

"Dean, were there-"

"There wasn't anyone there. You probably heard an animal, or the wind...or something."

Alec watches as Dean attempts to gut the hare with his knife. But Dean can't do it. Sam takes over, ripping into it with an admirable indifference, skinning and cleaning the thing as if it had never been alive. Sam cooks it over the fire, and the meat is tough from lack of preparation, but its okay and it fills them up enough when put alongside a bag of Funyuns apiece. Alec is pretty sure that Funyuns are the most delicious treat in the world.

Sam doesn't agree.

"I am so sick of Funyuns," the tall man says, throwing one of his circular snacks at Dean, who expertly catches it in his mouth. "I don't know how you can still _like_ them."

"They're delishush," Dean says through a mouthful and much to Alec's delight, places a hand on top of the boy's head. "Aren't they, kitten?"

"Best snack food ever."

"See? Kid has taste."

Sam pouts and Alec feels happy. Dean isn't mad at him anymore, Sam is irritated, and all is right with the world.

Until, of course, they start talking about "the job" again.

"So, you get what we do, right?"

Alec had tried to grasp this yesterday. And sure, he'd seen the scary lady in the house that first day, had felt her go right through him, but all this...supernatural stuff wasn't something he'd ever considered to be real. Myths and religion were something to be taken advantage of, to be seen as a weakness, in anyone who held them close.

"You hunt things from beyond the grave." Alec is robotic in his recitation. Sam and Dean exchange glances.

"You don't sound like you believe it," Sam says.

"I don't."

"You saw a freakin' ghost, Alec."

Dean's annoyed. Alec considers not being argumentative. He's not supposed to be argumentative anyway, back at Manticore they drilled the belligerence right out of them...and Dean. Dean didn't talk to him for four whole hours earlier and that was enough, in Alec's opinion.

"Look...I'll accept it when I see it."

"When you see it _again_," Dean corrects him.

"Whatever."

Dean rolls his eyes. Sam huffs. Alec just shrugs. He wonders if these two will ever get to know him well enough to understand that he _likes _being infuriating.

Sam demands that Alec go to bed an hour before they do, you know, for the sake of differentiating him from the "adults." As he lays awake, listening to them talking in low voices, listening to the fire spitting and crackling to its end, Alec wonders if Sam also enjoys being infuriating.

They use him as a barrier again. Alec hears and feels them settling down on either side of him on the ground, catches the change in breathing as they fall asleep. He wonders if they'll ever get to know him well enough to realize that he doesn't sleep - other than when he's sick as hell, obviously.

The sky is black, the moon and stars are blanketed over with clouds, when Alec hears the rustle. He tells himself that it's just animals, tells himself that its the wind, even though the air is still. But it could still be animals. His eyes dance across the brush.

It's animals, he's sure of it.

And then the air isn't still anymore and there's a breeze and the clouds move just a little. The dim glow hits pale white skin and Alec catches the form of a child, starts, jumps to his feet. He freezes and looks down.

Sam and Dean are still asleep.

Twigs snap with the footsteps. The other kid's on the move.

Alec creeps quietly away, and then runs like hell.

* * *

The sun's already out when Dean wakes up, and there's a fucking beetle on his face. He whacks at it, and the sound of his hand smacking his own cheek causes Sam's eyes to pop open.

"Don't hit yourself, Dean."

"There was a fuckin' bug-"

"_Sure_ there was."

It's two more seconds before he realizes that Alec's not between them. And then they both start calling out, but the kid doesn't come.

"Maybe he's taking a piss," Sam suggests and Dean hits his kid brother in the arm. Hard. "What the _fuck_, Dean?"

"If he were taking a piss, he would answer us. Alec's not a modest little bitch like you."

"Dean, don't panic, okay? Alec can handle himself. He took us both out before, remember? Few days ago? In the barn..."

Dean can't listen to this shit.

"We should have avoided this place. He told us he didn't want to be here."

"Dean..."

Dean grabs a gun and starts through the woods. Sam follows him, stops talking, and that's good, because Dean can't handle any of Sam's prototypical reassurances right now. He just needs to find the damn kid because the damn kid is an undersized Dean and Dean quite likes himself when he's small and not inside of his own head.

But someone took Alec.

Or maybe Alec ran away. People are always running away from Dean. Dean's well aware that Sam constantly wants to run the fuck away from him. And who can blame him? Dean's annoying and bossy and a slob. Dad ran away from Dean, too. And if his own father couldn't stand to be around him, then why would some escapee kid want to be his bosom buddy?

It feels like three weeks, but eventually Alec pops out from behind a tree somewhere, with leaves stuck in his hair and a dubious expression on his face.

"I saw a kid," he says by way of explanation. "Last night while you guys were asleep and I went after him, but-"

"Why the fuck didn't you wake us?"

Alarm flashes across Alec's face. That wasn't Dean. That was Sam.

Dean looks over to his brother, who looks like he's about to go postal. He's impressed - Sam's been getting better at hiding his worried little princess act as of late. Alec stammers out an apology, skirts into Dean's side.

"Don't swear at the kid, Sam."

"He didn't answer the question."

That's true enough. Dean looks down at the boy. Alec looks up at Dean.

"You were sleeping," the kid shrugs. "How was I supposed to know you'd want me to wake you?"

"Were you trained to go after shit without backup?"

"I was trained to judge when I needed backup. This time, I didn't think I needed backup. And like I said, you were sleeping."

The kid doesn't get it. Dean gets why he doesn't get it. The Winchester boys were trained to judge when they needed backup, as well...though usually they were always following orders.

"Next time clear it with us. Leaving like that isn't cool."

"I didn't_ leave_," Alec protests. "And don't you want to know-"

"You can tell us in the car. We want to be at Bobby's by nightfall."

"We can't leave! He's_ here_. I just know he is!"

Sam stops, so Dean stops. Alec looks at them with pleading eyes. And damn, is this kid good. Dean doesn't remember having that particular power of persuasion growing up.

"Who's here, Alec?" Sam's calmed down. A little. His voice is all soft and reasonable.

Alec stands tall, looks them in the eyes. "Ben."

Dean looks at Sam. Sam looks at Dean. The questioning is simultaneous:

"Who the fuck is Ben?"


	6. Three Deans

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Six - Three Deans_

_

* * *

_

Dean's eyes are grapefruits. Seriously. They're that fucking big right now.

"You...you have a...a..."

"Twin?" Sam finishes the sentence. Sam finishes the sentence because Dean can't and Alec is just standing there, looking a little tense and kind of afraid, nodding.

"There's another one of you?" Dean prompts, and he's shaking his head in amazement. "I have _two_ clones?"

They're all just standing there in the middle of the woods, and the breeze is faint, but there. Dean looks to Alec and then to Sam and he notices how Alec's too thin, how the wind presses the shirt against the boy's slight outline, blowing the extra material back. And Sam's hair is flying up and back, it's too damn long. And if Alec's too thin and Sam's hair is overgrown, then how the hell is he supposed to take care of another one?

"Alec, how the hell could you-" Dean stops himself because the boy is flinching and the last thing he wants to do is make Alec flinch. He breathes, deep and calming-like before asking, "Why didn't you tell us earlier, kid?"

Alec stands tense, looks between them and then around them, and Dean recognizes the stance and the alertness in the eyes. It's the same way Alec looked right before knocking the Winchesters right out of their fucking heads and lifting their wallets.

"I'm not mad, Alec. Don't run."

There's a lot of breathing going on. Alec lets a gust of air out and his tiny body seems to go a little limp before he peers at them with hopeful eyes.

"You're not?" He doesn't wait for a response. The words just start tumbling out, tripping over eachother like clumsy escape artists from the boy's small mouth. "I just-I didn't wanna overwhelm you and I was gonna tell you, I swear, but I didn't know if he was alive, but he's alive now and I didn't have the chance to tell you, yet, so I'm sorry but you just kinda had to find out this way and we can't go to this Bobby guy's house, yet, either, because Ben's here and I can't just leave him. If it weren't for him, I'd still be at Manticore and- I guess you could leave, actually, but I can't. You don't have to stay."

Dean, having only really caught the tail end of that little babble session, quirks an eyebrow at the kid before looking to Sam, who is equally stunned by the amount and speed of the explanation.

"Yeah, okay...let's get one thing straight, kitten. Sam and I? We're not leavin', okay? If this is..._Ben_, then he's blood, right? We have the same DNA. That means he's family. And we're not the sort of family who leaves each other behind."

_Well, most of the time_, Dean amends in his head and his mind quickly flashes through image after image of his father leaving, month after month...and Sam going to college, and Sam's empty bed after countless arguments.

"I'm not gonna leave you," Dean feels the need to clarify, because that's the truth. Dean's always leaving, but he never really leaves.

Alec looks for a moment like he's going to run into his arms, but the kid stops himself, composes himself. Dean's torn between disappointment that he's not getting any affection and pride that his clone's not a little princess like Sam.

"Okay," Alec says instead. He sways from his right foot to his left, then starts dancing on the balls of his feet. He bites his bottom lip, and reaches for the sleeve of Dean's well-worn henley. "Can we look for him, then?"

They look for Ben. Or whoever or whatever the hell the kid thinks he saw last night, because Dean isn't sure if Alec's just really hoping. The boy's eyes seemed to spark brighter than Dean had ever seen them, like something finally clicked or surfaced or something - there was longing and need and hope there, when Alec told them about Ben. And Dean will never admit it to anyone, but it reminds him of himself - and of Sam.

"Alec," Sam says. It's been a few hours and Dean hears the note of tiredness and sees that look in Sam's eyes, the one that tells him that Sam thinks this whole thing is pretty fucking impractical and they should just get in the car now and get to Bobby's before the middle of the night. "Are you absolutely _sure_-"

"I'm sure! We just...he's probably just laying low, Sam. He doesn't trust you."

"But he trusts you-"

"But he doesn't trust _you_."

And Alec starts forward then, like an overexcited pup fresh off the leash, like Dean and Sam have been holding him back this entire time and he's gotta get the fuck away before they can reel him back in.

"Alec!" Dean calls after the kid, and he's all stern and sounds like his father and shit but he doesn't care. The kid's running off. "Alec, get back here!"

The kid stops up ahead. Dean hears the heels of the kid's shoes dig into mud and leaves.

"I think it might be better if I find him by myself."

"I think it might be better if you get the hell back here like I just told you to do." He's surprised when the words leave his mouth and so is Sam. His little brother's got one of those "are you kidding me, Dean?" looks on his face.

"Channeling Dad again, are you?" Sam mutters out of the side of his mouth. Dean responds by stepping on his brother's foot.

Alec looks startled, then disgruntled, then a little pissed off. The soldier disappears for a moment, and all that's left standing in front of them is four feet and two inches of indignant little boy, saying, "You can't tell me what to do!"

Dean cocks an eyebrow, turns to his brother, says, "You're a bad influence."

Sam rolls his eyes. "He's rebelling against your bossiness and it's _my_ fault?"

"Yes. I left you alone with him for two hours yesterday. You did this. I know you did this."

"Yeah, because it's not an appropriate reaction at all - a kid who wants to control himself rather than being controlled all the time by some _drill sergeant_-"

"Uh, guys?"

"-Dad's been gone a long time, Sammy. Can't you let this go already?"

"Guys?"

"No! I _can't_, Dean. I wish to God I could, but even though Dad's dead? You're still here and set on acting like him about thirty percent of the goddamn time."

"_Guys_!"

"Thirty percent? Seriously? Where did that number even come from-?"

"Hey, _douche_bags!"

Alec just called them douchebags. Dean turns toward the kid with his mouth open, not sure whether to scold or praise, when his mouth opens even more in a kind of jaw-dropping awe.

Because there's Alec in his little AC/DC shirt and already-filthy jeans. And then there's Alec again, standing shoulder to shoulder with Dean's Alec, in ripped and threadbare cotton garments with dirt smudges on his face and dried blood around his mouth.

Alec's beaming, his eyes darting between his twin and his quibbling caretakers. He reaches out a hand and grabs the other kid's forearm, brings him forward a few steps.

"Guys, this is Ben."

* * *

Ben skitters away when Sam and Dean step towards him, and Alec has to keep a firm hold on the guy to make sure he doesn't run.

"Ben, it's okay!" he says, but Ben's not looking like it's okay at all. He pulls out of Alec's hold so quick and hard that Alec is thrown forward a little and then Ben's got a hold of Alec, and he's dragging him off. Or trying to.

Alec digs in his heels, pulls Ben back. Sam and Dean are approaching with slow caution now, concern blatant on their faces.

"Dude, stop!"

Ben stops, stares at Alec for a moment. "D-dude?" he tests out the unfamiliar word, eyes narrowing in scrutiny.

"It's just an expression, Ben." That's Sam. His voice is soft and soothing and Alec is reminded of when he was sick, of Sam leaning back in the Impala to push Alec's hair away from his head. "It can kinda mean anything, but it's usually just something we call each other. Like 'man' or 'guy' or 'bro.'"

"Bro?" Ben blinks. Alec regains the hold on his twin's arm.

He says,"It's an abbreviation. For brother."

The confusion on the other boy's face is palpable and Alec wants to get rid of it, wants to be able to convince him that it's okay now, that they're going to be okay, but Ben says, "They were yelling at you. I heard them. Yesterday, today...They were ordering you around."

"Ben, you don't-"

"I helped you get out of there because of this. We left because of _this_."

"Sam and Dean aren't like them!"

"Then _why_-?"

"I don't know why! They just do that! Because they're older than me and that makes them think that they're in charge sometimes! But they treat me like a person. We left there because they didn't treat us like people, remember, Ben? They treated us like we didn't - like we _couldn't_ - feel." Ben's will is faltering. Alec can see it. So he goes in for the kill, "They saved me."

"How?"

Alec explains. It's lengthy, and there's some unnecessary babble in there, and he's thrown off-topic when he lands a few inappropriate jokes, but he explains. Sam and Dean add in their two cents every so often, Sam in his soothing tone and Dean...Dean like he usually does, and Ben looks scared and then relieved and then angry and then, to Alec's amazement, timid.

"I don't understand why they would go to all this trouble."

And Alec opens his mouth, but he doesn't remember the reason for this one either, so he closes it and considers.

"You got Winchester blood," Dean says and both boys jump, spin towards him. He takes in their confused expressions with pursed lips and raised brows. "You're my _clones_, you little geniuses. You have my blood."

"Yeah," Alec says, eyes wide, turning back to Ben. "That's why, I guess. Remember? That's why you said we were brothers. We shared the same blood?"

Alec still really doesn't get this whole familial concept. It's new and foreign and he kind of doesn't like this feeling of disorientation it gives him.

"You're brothers because you're twins," Sam says. And Alec's thinking, _no shit, Sam_. "Dean and I are brothers because we have the same parents. You're Dean's clones, so you come from the same formula as Dean, meaning that you come from the same parents as we do. Which means that, technically, we're all biologically brothers."

The longing passes swiftly across Ben's face and he's looking from Sam to Dean to Alec. Alec's guessing he's thinking about his unit, because Ben had said that they'd all been brothers and sisters in his unit. Surrogate siblings.

"Do you know where any of them are?" Alec asks.

He kind of hates himself for it, but he hopes Ben answers in the negative. There's not enough space in the Impala for any more soldiers.

Ben shakes his head.

"I don't know how many of them made it out...I saw a few of them go down. They just kept _shooting_, Alec. Shooting us all dead."

Alec doesn't want to remember.

"I...It's over. We're going to be alright now." Alec doesn't want to remember, but his mind is being ravaged by images of children with shorn heads being gunned down in the middle of the night. He blinks hard, tries to bat the memories away. "We're gonna be alright now," he repeats and he looks to Sam and Dean because he doesn't know where else to look. "Right?"

Two startled looks vanish almost instantly and are replaced with steadfast determination. A quick glance is exchanged, unspoken words floating between the two brothers and Alec is amazed by how much he gets it after only a couple of days - how long these two have been together. How they must understand each other.

It's Dean who comes forward, steps slow and cautious, face gentle, like he's approaching two wild animals with bleeding paws.

Alec will never admit it, but he kind of wants to run into the man's arms right now, wants to be held like he was held days ago, in the hospital, when they made up that lie that made Alec feel like he actually belonged to someone.

But he doesn't move and Ben doesn't move and Dean leans down, so they're all at eye level.

"You don't worry about those sons of bitches anymore, alright? Sam and I...we're not gonna let anything bad happen to you."

Alec's almost got the courage to do it. He's gonna do it. He's gonna run into Dean's arms because that's what he wants to do right now. He doesn't have to be a soldier right now.

He's just about to do it, when Ben's body crashes into Dean. And Dean looks surprised, then awkward, then gratified as he lifts the filthy boy into his arms, hugs him close.

Alec doesn't understand.

Does not compute.

"Aw, Benny," Dean says, turning his head slightly away from the boy's hair. "You need a bath before you get in my car."

Dean goes on to say that they need to hit the road within the next couple of hours if they don't want Bobby to kick their asses for showing up at 3 in the morning, and he doesn't really know if Bobby's going to kick their asses anyway, showing up with two kids that look just like Dean.

"Dude's gonna kill us," Dean jokes to Sam as they walk back in the direction they just came from. Ben's still clinging around his neck. Alec's trailing a few feet behind, feeling completely befuddled by these new developments. This isn't the way it's supposed to happen.

Alec stops, halted abruptly by his own thoughts. If this isn't the way, then how is it supposed to happen? What's even happening? Why is it happening so fast? They were three, and now they're four, and Alec's spot has been thieved right out from under him.

"Alec?" Sam's walking back towards him. "You okay? You tired?"

They're in a hurry now, apparently, because Sam doesn't wait for him to respond, just picks him up like he's nothing. Alec's indignation is smothered by the warm, broad shoulder he melts into, and he grumbles, "You're abnormally large, Sam."

"I know," Sam replies. "You like it."

Alec does like it. A little.

* * *

Three Deans. Sam is stuck in the car with three Deans.

It's pretty much his worst nightmare.

Luckily one of them is sleeping, or pretending to sleep. Sam can't really tell, he just knows that Ben's eyes are closed and his head is back and the kid looks at peace.

It's clear to him, even after only something like an hour and a half of knowing the boy, that Ben isn't Alec. Ben _needs_ more than Alec. He hadn't wanted to come down from Dean's arms.

And Sam had been the one to help the kid bathe, opting to use straight up bottled water instead of the lake. Alec had been right - not an economically sound plan at all. Ben had let Sam peel the dirty clothes from his body, only protesting when Sam had picked up a scrap of paper that fell from the waistband of the cotton pants.

A picture of the Virgin Mary.

Ben kept calling her the Blue Lady and Sam had smiled, started telling him the biblical tale as he ran soap over the dirt and blood marring the boy's skin.

But Ben hadn't wanted to hear it. He had his own stories behind the picture, and Sam listened to them, nodded along.

Because there's never anything wrong with encouraging a little creativity in young minds.

They get to Bobby's just shy of three a.m..

"What in the goddamn hell?" the older man demands upon seeing Ben curled in Sam's arms and Alec's bright eyes peering up at him.

"Hi!" Alec chirps, sticks out a hand. "How are ya? My name is Alec. I'm Dean's clone."

If Sam had a free palm, it would be meeting his face right now.

Three Deans.

It really is his worst nightmare.


	7. Just a Couple of Days

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Seven - Just a Couple of Days_

_

* * *

_Sam's got twenty bucks that says steam's about to come out of Bobby's ears. Twenty bucks. It's unfortunate that he'll never get to double that money, because the man's reaching up and collaring Dean and dragging him out of the living room and into the kitchen, leaving Sam and his two little charges on the couch.

"Sam?" Ben's blinking tiredly up at him. Kid might've actually been sleeping.

"Yeah?"

"Where's that man taking Dean?"

"Kitchen."

"Why?"

"T'yell at him."

Ben's head falls back down into Sam's lap. Sam guesses that Dean perpetuates the kind of guy that just gets yelled at a lot, because neither Ben, nor Alec seem too surprised by the idea.

"Alec, aren't you tired?"

"Nope."

"Huh." Sam scratches his head, stifles a yawn. "Well, I'm beat. M'gonna go get some blankets and stuff, okay?"

"Sure."

"Look after your brother."

"Why?"

"I don't need to be looked after," Ben mumbles, lifting his heavy head from Sam's thighs. Kid's hair's all mussed and Sam feels a surge of fondness rush through his blood.

"Sorry. Just, habit...or tiredness...or something." Sam gets up while he has the chance, leaves the two of them there to roll their eyes.

The blankets are pretty old and thin, but there's a lot of them, stacked high in the upstairs closet and Sam just takes a pile - there's probably like six, but the boys are small and - good fucking lord, when did he turn into this? He tucks them under his arm, plucks four flat pillows out of the bottom of the closet and tries to balance them all on his way back downstairs. The stack in his arms is so high, he can't see over it - it's like a freakin' bad cartoon using primitive comedic elements - but he makes it down the stairs before the pillows and blankets spill out of his arms and onto the floor.

"Shit," he mutters.

There's a giggle from the couch and Sam looks up to see Ben staring at him with bright eyes.

"I didn't just say that," Sam tells him.

"Did, too."

"Did n-" Sam stops himself, because what in the goddamn hell is he doing? He's not going to argue with some diminutive version of Dean. Well, not tonight, anyway. He bends over to pick up his spilled procurements, eyes Ben through his long bangs. "Where's Alec?"

"Right there."

Sam must be lazy as hell, because he only needed to look a few feet to his left to see Alec, who is standing silently next to the kitchen door, his ear pressed to the wood. Kid's got his mouth open and twisted into a joyous smirk and part of Sam just wants to laugh, because _this_ is Dean. This is Dean twenty years ago listening at the door to hunters cursing like sailors.

"Alec?"

Alec puts his index to his lips in an attempt to hush Sam.

"Alec, eavesdropping isn't nice."

"M'just making sure that man's not hurting Dean."

"Yeah, and you look like you're having a grand old time doing that, too. Bobby's not going to hurt Dean, Alec."

"Are you sure? 'Cause he really looked like he wanted to...and he keeps telling Dean he's gonna take him out back to the woodshed and-_ah_!"

The door swings open. Alec squeaks and backs up, then smirks at the sweet sweet picture of irritation painted all over Dean's face. And then it's like Dean is Dad (it's always like Dean's Dad these days) when fingers are snapped and an index is pointed to the couch. Alec leaps up onto the old cushions obediently, grins and swings his legs.

Ben pokes his insufferable twin in the shoulder. "What happens in the woodshed?" the boy asks curiously.

"Well, you know I'm not exactly sure, but it _sounded_ like-"

"Pie," Dean cuts him off. "The woodshed is where Bobby takes well-behaved little boys and gives them pie. You know who doesn't get pie, Alec?"

"Why aren't you asking Ben?"

"'Cause I'm asking you. Now answer. Who doesn't get pie?"

"You don't. Because you weren't well-behaved. Bobby _said_-"

"Bobby _says_ that eavesdroppers will get to know firsthand what goes on in the woodshed if they don't learn when to shut their little traps."

Sam chuckles when Alec's mouth snaps closed. Kid sounds like a baby crocodile, and his eyes are wide and bright as he takes in the sight of the grizzled older hunter with his trucker cap and crossed limbs.

"What happens in the woodshed?" Ben, again. And this time, his voice is quiet and timid and he won't look at anyone but Alec. Alec shifts closer to him on the couch, and Sam sees that their arms just barely touch.

Dean looks anxious. Sam remembers asking that same question twenty years ago. His big brother's answer is the same now as it was then. "Nothin' that you have to worry about, Benny. Bobby, don't threaten the kids."

Bobby snorts, holds up two surrendering hands. "I barely have any strength left in my tongue after I get done threatenin' the two of you, as much as you ask for it. I'll leave the little ones up to you."

Alec huffs. "_You're_ little."

"_Alec._"

The boy fidgets a little at the dual reprimand, but Bobby's chuckling into his hand, considering the kid with a lighthearted gaze.

"This one's jus' like you, Dean."

"He's m'clone." Dean's brimming with pride. And Alec's _beaming_, for chrissakes. Sam kind of wants to vomit all over himself and die. "I'd hope he's just like me."

"I'm Dean's clone, too," Ben mumbles, and he's not even looking at Alec anymore, just looking at his own hands. Sam has to resist the urge to scoop the child into a hug, squeeze the hurt away from that little voice.

Dean isn't Sam, though, and he plucks Ben off the couch, hands gripping the boy under his arms, swings him around a couple of times until Ben laughs from either confusion or delight. Sam watches his brother fall back onto the couch with the boy still in his arms, watches the elder Winchester ruffle the blonde hair with a gruff hand.

"Y'sure are."

Sam's big brother is an awesome big brother.

Dean yawns. "M'beat. Those blankets, Sammy? And pillows? Bobby, m'thinkin' you can fill us in tomorrow. I'll even let you take me out to the woodshed if you decide you're still pissed..."

Bobby smacks Dean upside the head, tells them all to get their asses in bed before heading upstairs. Bed consists of the couch, of course, which Sam and Dean make up for Alec and Ben. A single blanket on the floor isn't much in the way of back support, but they've had worse.

Inevitably, Alec says, "M'not tired."

Inevitably, Sam and Dean reply, "Tough." Well, Sam says "tough," anyway. Dean actually says "tough shit." Tomatoes, tomahtoes.

As tired as he is, Sam struggles to fall asleep. The couch creaks every time the boys fidget, which is a lot. And Dean's snoring softly within minutes. Sam listens to his brother's breathing, sucks in a breath and holds onto it until Dean lets out his own. He's found, over the years, that he relaxes the most when they're in sync. Tonight is no different. He hears Ben mumble something to Alec. Or maybe that's Alec mumbling to Ben.

Sam rolls over onto his stomach, nestles his head into his pillow. It's less than an hour before Dean's hand reaches out to rest on his little brother's back. It's less than an hour before Sam finally falls into slumber.

* * *

The sun's shining through the window onto Alec's eyelids, which open once he's sensing heat and seeing red. There's no sense in pretending come morning. He blinks to get used to the light, blinks more when he can't fathom the empty space on the other side of the couch.

"Ben?"

He whispers the name, because Sam and Dean are still sleeping and the last thing he wants to do is wake them.

_Why the fuck didn't you wake us?_

Scratch that. Sam would want Alec to wake them. Alec doesn't like Sam's scary voice so he's willing to endure any morning grumpiness in its place. Alec rolls off the couch, onto his feet, and looks at the two mounds on the floor with the tiniest twinge of apprehension.

That's when he notices there's not two mounds on the floor, but two and a _half_.

There's a smaller mound between the two big ones.

Ben had wedged himself between Sam and Dean sometime last night, while Alec had been thinking and not paying attention.

_That little thie-...sneak._

"Hey," Alec says, and they stir a little. The blanket moves down with the shifting.

Dean's arm is settled comfortably around Ben's waist.

"_Hey!_"

All three of them jump like scared rabbits. Three disheveled heads turn to blink at Alec.

"What's wrong, kiddo?" Dean croaks.

"Did you have a bad dream?" Sam wants to know.

"The sun's too bright," Ben complains, before diving back into Dean's pillow and tossing a blanket back over his head.

"It's morning," Alec explains. "I woke you up because it's morning."

Dean licks his lips, clears his throat. "Alec...uh, we're at Bobby's, dude."

Alec nods. "Yeah, got that. It's morning." Dean shakes his head. Alec raises an eyebrow. "It's..._not_ morning?"

"We're at Bobby's," Dean repeats. "It's not morning until Bobby says its morning."

Dean falls back onto his pillow.

Sam rubs at his eyes, asks again, "Did you have a bad dream?"

Alec didn't have a bad dream. Alec can't have bad dreams because Alec doesn't sleep, and he would so totally tell the Winchesters this if it didn't mean the end of this charade it seemed he now had to share. With Ben.

He narrows his eyes at the smaller lump under the blankets. Because that space? Between Sam and Dean? That's _Alec's_ space. Always has been. Because four days is forever, and Alec is going to stick to this limited way of thinking for as long as he lives.

"I didn't have a bad dream," he mumbles.

Sam yawns, says, "Good. Why don't you go lay down again?" before falling back onto his own pillow.

Alec considers kicking Sam's foot. Seriously, his own foot is itching to do it. He'll do it hard, too, and probably get yelled at, but that would be okay. Because if they're too busy yelling at Alec, then they're not going to be paying attention to Ben, are they?

"Alec?"

It's Alec's turn to jump like a scared rabbit. Bobby's standing in the doorway, considering him with wise eyes.

"How do you know I'm not Ben?"

"Ben doesn't have any pants."

It's true. Ben doesn't have any pants. He'd worn one of Sam's T-shirts yesterday, is still wearing one of Sam's T-shirts today.

"Maybe I gave Ben my pants."

Bobby smirks at the saucy tone, moves easily towards the boy. "Maybe you did, 'cept you're still wearin' 'em." Alec does his best to not flinch away when the man's coarse hand cups the back of his neck. "Easy there, boy. You'll get used to me. Half-raised the two idgets who're gonna be raisin' you." Bobby smiles. Alec relaxes, peers into the man's warm eyes. Bobby asks, "Breakfast?"

Yeah, this guy's on the level. He has to be. He knows that food is the key to Alec's heart.

After breakfast, while Sam and Dean are hogging the bathrooms to shower, Bobby pulls a battered cardboard box out of the attic. It's full of old clothes - Sam and Dean's old clothes, and some of them actually fit the two little boys perfectly.

"Thought that might work out," Bobby grunts as Ben eagerly pulls on a pair of ratty jeans and Alec shrugs into a blue T-shirt.

An hour later, Ben and Alec are shooting jars from a fence post. They hit every single one because they're awesome like that.

"Genetically engineered killing machines," Alec reminds the three men, because they have these flabbergasted looks on their faces and really, they should know better. "Of _course_ we know our way around a gun."

Alec's shoving a sandwich in his mouth when Dean and Sam tell them they're going to be staying with Bobby a couple of days, while Dean and Sam are on a hunt. Alec swallows his bite, because its delicious. Ben, however, spits his out into a napkin.

"You're leaving us?"

That's Ben. Alec isn't so grossly theatrical.

"You're_ abandoning_ us?"

"Alec, of course we're not abandoning you," Sam soothes. "It's just a couple of days."

Alec watches Dean swallow a huge bite of sandwich. "Hunt's too dangerous for newbies. Bobby'll teach you a thing or two while we're gone."

Alec watches his newfound parents or brothers or whatever-the-fuck pack up that afternoon. Beside him, Ben trembles.

"We'll be back in two days," Sam keeps saying. "You'll have fun here. Dean and I always liked being at Bobby's when we were kids."

"What if Manticore finds us?" Ben's voice is shaky. "We're an easy target if we're staying in one place."

Dean handles that one, assuring Ben that Bobby knows all about it, knows what to look out for, that Bobby's gonna protect them. It's going to be okay, Dean keeps saying, and Sam keeps telling them they'll all be together again in just two days.

They're on the front porch an hour later.

"Mind Bobby." Dean's all stern and shit, but then he smirks and holds out his arms for Alec and then for Ben. Alec lets go pretty quick. He can't help it. He's feeling sulky as all hell. Ben, however, clings.

"Don't go."

Alec really just wants Ben to let the fuck go of Dean. He thinks about saying that, but turns to Sam instead.

"This gonna be a regular thing?"

Sam shakes his head fervently, says that leaving them behind is going to be a rare deal. Then Alec's high up in the air because Sam's a freaking giant who likes to cuddle.

And then they're gone.

Ben won't talk, and Bobby's trying his best to cheer the other boy up without being too much of a woman about it.

"They'll be back, Ben. It's just a couple of days."

Alec watches the older man pat Ben's shoulder, listens to more soothing prattle. Alec isn't so much as spared a glance and he can't help but feel like he's being thieved for a third time.


	8. Stale Popcorn

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Eight - Stale Popcorn_

_

* * *

_

"This is crazy," Ben murmurs as he trails the salt in a careful circle around the two-decade-old sofa. Alec's sitting on the couch, eating a bowl of popcorn Bobby had left on the coffee table the night before. "This is crazy and that's gotta be stale."

Alec attempts the death-defying toss and catch. He misses.

"Cuntsucker."

Ben scowls as he watches his brother's small hands sink into the depths of the couch, searching for the missing piece of popcorn. "Stop _swearing_, Alec."

"Why?" Alec wants to know.

"It's neither nice, nor becoming of a good soldier to swear."

Alec tosses another popped kernel into the air, and this time he catches it. "We're not soldiers anymore. And Dean swears. A lot. Sam, too, sometimes."

It's true. Ben's heard Dean swear. A lot. Sam, too, sometimes. His throat goes a little dry at the mention of their names and there's a pang in his chest and his stomach feels nauseous in its emptiness.

"I want Sam and Dean to come back." He doesn't realize he's talking. Alec's mouth misses the popcorn again, which isn't surprising. The throw was way off-kilter. The kernel flies behind the couch, lands directly on the salt line.

Alec peaks over the back cushions, wonders aloud, "Does that count as a break? Can ghosts get in now?"

Ben furrows his brow. "I...don't think so. The salt line hasn't been obstructed, just covered."

"Maybe we should ask Bobby," Alec says. Ben doesn't want to ask Bobby, but Alec's already hollering the man's name.

Bobby runs into the room, looking harassed under his beard and hat.

"Can ghosts still get in?" Alec asks, pointing to the popcorn. "Ben wants to know."

"_You_ wanted to know," Ben snaps.

"Whatever."

Ben glares at Alec, who's looking imploringly at Bobby. Ben doesn't want to look at Bobby. Bobby isn't Sam or Dean. Bobby isn't his brother or his blood, and Ben doesn't understand why he and Alec are here, in Bobby's house, while Sam and Dean are elsewhere.

Bobby's hat moves upward with his brow as he looks between the littered salt line and the boy on the couch. "If you're not sure, what should you do, Alec?"

"Uhh..."

"Use your common sense, boy."

"Remove the cause of my uncertainty?"

"Would imagine so. Clean up your mess and put that bowl in the kitchen. You don't need to be eating that stale crap."

Alec scowls rather darkly, but does as he's told. Ben is pleased to see that he was right - the salt line _wasn't_ demolished by the kernel. He makes eye contact with Bobby for the first time since the man walked into the room, stands straight and at attention.

"Is this adequate, sir?"

Bobby smirks and pats him on the shoulder. Ben tries not to flinch. "At ease, soldier. And how many times I gotta tell you? Unless I'm pissed at ya, you're to call me by my name."

"Sorry," Ben says hurriedly. "Is this adequate, Bobby?"

The man takes only a moment to look the line over completely before he nods and smiles. "Good work, Ben. Thick and complete."

"It would keep the ghosts out?"

Bobby nods. "It would keep the ghosts out. Demons, too."

Ben releases a breath that he didn't know he was holding. Drawing salt lines around a couch might be crazy, but at least he can accomplish the task.

"You want some lunch?" the older man asks.

"I want some lunch!" Alec's voice comes from the kitchen. Ben scowls in its general direction before turning back to Bobby.

"No thank you, s-Bobby. When are Sam and Dean coming back for us?"

Bobby's smile might be kind, or placating, or anything. Ben doesn't know, because he doesn't look at it. He looks at his feet, instead.

"Tomorrow, Ben. You know that."

"Areyousure?" Ben would cringe at his lack of pause if he wasn't so desperate for an answer.

"They haven't said otherwise. They'll check in tonight. That I'm sure of."

Bobby feeds them sandwiches for lunch, again. Old peanut butter and old jelly, but it tastes good enough and Alec's bouncing off the walls afterwards and Ben kind of feels like he's going to, too, but he restrains himself. He doesn't know how Alec's forgotten the rules already, the rules that have been instilled in them since birth, but his twin has become...undisciplined, at best.

Sam and Dean call at 9 that night, talk to Bobby for 15 minutes. Ben grabs Alec by the back of his T-shirt when he starts edging closer to the older hunter in order to eavesdrop on the conversation, only to receive a scowl and a slight push from the other boy.

"It's not nice. Sam _said_."

"Sam's a pretty pretty princess," Alec retorts. "_Dean _said."

Ben doesn't let go, but Bobby gives them the phone after he's done. Sam and Dean assure them that yes, they will be back tomorrow, probably before noon. The hunt went as well as could be expected, they got the sonuvabitch, and was Alec minding Bobby? He sure as hell better be.

Only Alec, Ben notes with a smidge of pride. Ben is the good one.

Alec scowls at the phone, says, "Are you kidding me? The guy _adores_ me. I'm a_dor_able. Did you ask him? I bet that's what he would say if you asked him."

"Just make sure that you are," Dean replies in a tone that indicates the utmost amusement.

A few minutes later, they hang up the phone. Bobby says that its time for bed and Ben peels off his shoes and hops up onto the couch immediately while Alec takes some time to wheedle. Ben frowns at his twin, thinking that Alec really needs to work on the way he handles situations if he wants to go to the Good Place.

* * *

The clock says that it's 12:15. Alec's shifting on the balls of his feet, staring at the back door. It'll open soon, he keeps telling himself. That old car just decided it didn't wanna go so fast anymore, or something. Sam and Dean will be back any minute now and Alec can get his welcome home embrace and-

...and he so just didn't think that. Alec doesn't need embraces, but he knows he has one coming. They've been gone for two days. That's what people out here do when they've been gone for two days. Right?

Right. Alec's sure of it. It's instinct. He'll get a hug from Dean and a hug from Sam and then together, he and Dean can make fun of Sam again. Just like the old days. The old days of three days ago.

"Why aren't they here, yet?"

That's Ben. He keeps asking that. He doesn't understand that outside of Manticore, people don't necessarily have to be punctual.

"They'll be here soon."

It's the fourth time he's said it, but it's not like he doesn't believe it. Sam and Dean will be here soon. Sam and Dean always come back for Alec, and Dean's not gonna leave him. He said so. He said,_ I'm not gonna leave you_. To Alec.

12:30. It's 12:30 and they still aren't here. Alec's about to start scratching the walls and Ben looks like he's near tears. He sounds it, too.

"Why aren't they here, yet?"

Alec pats him consolingly on the arm. Ben doesn't know Sam and Dean always come back, the way Alec does. "S'okay, Ben. They'll be here. They're just late, is all."

It's 1:03 when they hear the roar/growl/sputter of the Impala. It's still 1:03 when they fling themselves out of the back door and onto the porch and down the stairs. Ben is faster. It's not because he's actually_ faster_, it's just because he's in more of a hurry, but he beats Alec to Sam and Dean, who are out of the car and ready for him.

Alec doesn't really know how the two men can tell them apart already, but when Ben gives Sam a quick hug, he hears Sam say, "Hey, Ben" and when Ben rushes into Dean's arms and clings, Alec hears, "Aw, Benny..."

Alec stops, stares. Dean isn't even looking at Alec. He only has eyes for Ben. Sam's got his arms open, though and Alec creeps into them, wastes away in the feeling for a moment before letting go and looking at Dean.

Who's still holding Ben. Ben isn't letting go.

_Let the fuck go, Ben_, Alec wants to say.

Dean finally sets Ben on the ground, but the boy just clings around his middle and Dean seems okay with that, runs a hand over the blonde hair and murmurs a few sweet words.

Something white and hot and blinding flashes through Alec.

"What the-"

"Alec...? Alec! Stop!"

Ben's not melted into Dean's abdomen anymore. Ben's on the ground and Alec's on top of him and Alec's fists are hammers beating away at Ben's face which isn't a nail, but probably should be with the way it's stuck itself into Alec's newfound family situation.

Alec gets in a few good hits before Ben realizes what's happening and kicks Alec off with powerful feet.

Ben's face is bloody and tear-streaked and he keeps asking why.

Alec lunges again, but he's caught around the middle, yanked back into a powerful body.

"Alec, stop it. Now."

Sam. Sam's confused and pissed off. He whirls Alec around and kneels and Alec looks back over his own shoulder, looks to see Ben sobbing into Dean's neck.

"_Hey_! Look at me." Sam's shaking him. It's a firm shake. And his voice is angry. "Alec?" Yep, Sam is Not Pleased. Alec looks at the man. Sam is a picture of blue-green exasperation.

Ben's crying is getting closer. Dean's approaching.

"Sammy, take Ben, will you?"

"_No_!"

"Benny, I need t'talk to Al-"

"No! I want _you_."

_Mothercockshit_. Alec tears himself out of Sam's grasp, hands itching to strangle his twin.

"Alec!"

And he's caught around the middle again, and this time he's hefted into the air, thrown over a broad shoulder.

He's far from the ground and staring down Sam's giant back. He doesn't want to look up, doesn't want to see Dean comforting Ben. The thought makes him sicker than salmonella poisoning.

They pass Bobby in the kitchen. Alec doesn't look at him.

"Use my room if you want, Sam."

Alec feels Sam nod. Sam says, "Thanks."

Up the stairs and to the left. The room is old and brown and mismatched. Sam sets Alec down on the ancient mattress, looms over him momentarily before sighing and sitting down beside him.

"Wanna tell me what that was about?"

Alec doesn't. He shakes his head.

"You're a strong kid, Alec. You could've really hurt him."

"He's the same as me. He could've hurt _me_."

"He didn't attack you."

"He didn't need to."

Alec isn't exactly sure what he meant by that, but he knows he meant it. Sam frowns, though, runs a hand over his scalp and sighs.

"I think you need to cool off."

"I'm fine."

"If you were fine you wouldn't have whaled on your own brother. You don't hit your brother, Alec. Not in this family." Sam pauses, lets loose a breath. Alec watches as the tall man takes a moment to reconsider. "Not unless he really, really deserves it. And Ben didn't deserve that."

"How do you know?"

"Because you can't explain yourself. You're gonna stay in here for the rest of the day. Bathroom's right there. I'll come get you for dinner."

Sam gets up and leaves. He shuts the door behind him.

Alec feels his eyes prickle, but oh _hell no_. He's not going to cry. He's not Ben. Alec is a soldier. Soldiers don't cry. When soldiers cry, they get hit in the face. Then they're told to stop crying.

Alec doesn't need to be hit in the face. Not now. He's been hit in the face before. Alec learns. Alec's astute. Alec's a smart, smart boy.

Dean's inside the house now, with Ben, and Alec can hear the man's soft rumble. He jumps lightly off the bed, kicks off his shoes, thinking that maybe if he's still enough, he can feel Dean's voice through the floorboards.

He can't. There is no comfort in this room.

Something wet falls down his cheek. Alec swipes it away. That wasn't a tear. Crying might very well be worse than shitting himself.

He falls back onto Bobby's old bed and curls into himself. He thinks about Manticore, about swimming practice, about being forced under the water for minutes upon minutes until he almost drowned and only then did they let him back up again. He remembers being alone and empty, his lungs slowly being filled with something pure and unadulterated. Even water kills you eventually.

This room is a pool. Fuck this room.

It's been two hours when Alec finally gets off the bed and creeps out the door. He stands on the top of the stairs and listens to Ben's laughter as Dean relates some embarrassing tale about Sam's childhood. Alec takes a cautious step down.

He's gonna apologize or something…and then maybe he, too, can laugh.

There's an awful creak in the middle of the staircase. Dean appears at the foot within seconds, scowling.

"Get the hell back up there, Alec."

"But-"

"Right now, young man."

Alec scampers back up the stairs, hears Sam ask, "Dude, did the words 'young man' really just come out of your mouth?"

"Shut up."

Alec closes the door.

It's only an hour later when he realizes there's no way in hell he can stand this any longer. He'll be alone, that's fine, but not in this room.

He's aware of the creak in the stairs now, and this time he descends without incident. They're outside on the porch. Alec's got sensitive ears and he can detect the mature male voices, but he doesn't hear Ben. Ben's being quiet, because Ben's the good one.

He stands there for a minute and listens, but then the knob starts turning.

The panic floods through him in a rush of color and he dashes to the first door he sees, opens it and flings himself inside. He catches himself on a rotting rail before he falls down a set of stairs.

"Shit."

His heart's in his throat. He takes a moment to calm himself before carefully stepping down to ground level. A basement. Fantastic. Alec hates basements. Basements are where they keep the 'Nomlies.

His first thought is that there's not much down here. His second thought is that the upstairs door is opening and he's gotta get the fuck hidden if he doesn't want to get yelled at again.

There's another door, a heavy door with a barred slot, and Alec opens it and dashes inside.

And…it's Solitary. This room is Solitary with a cot and a symbol and a poster of a lady with too few clothes. Alec doesn't close the door behind him. He's not gonna get stuck in here.

"Alec?"

Ben. It's Ben and he's stepping cautiously into the cell. His face is bruised, but already healing and Alec is pretty sure any evidence of earlier misdeed will have vanished by tomorrow.

"Leave me alone."

"What are you doing down here?"

"Throwin' myself a party. What are you doing down here?"

"Sam and Dean said you weren't supposed to-"

"Shut the fuck up, Ben. And leave me alone."

Ben shuts up, but he doesn't leave. Alec would beat his twin to death, but he doesn't have the energy or the heart, so he just stares at the grey walls and tries to remember why he left Manticore.

At Manticore, this kind of pain doesn't exist.

"I'm not leaving," Ben says. "You…you have to be good, Alec."

"I _am_ good." Alec doesn't realize he's talking, really. He's just saying what's coming to mind and this isn't a conversation. This is just Alec being Alec, talking nonsense. "I mean, I might steal shit sometimes, but I don't go around stealing people."

"What are you-"

"You steal people. You're a people stealer. Now_ leave_."

"I'm not leaving! Alec, you're not making any sense. You don't turn against your unit without reason. You've gotta stop being so _bad_."

Alec's seeing colors again, and he's not sure if it's panic or fury, but he knows he has to get out of here. He can't stay here. Not with Ben. His feet are working, moving him towards the door.

…which just slid shut. _Fantastic_.

"What…did you do?" Small hands latch onto the handle and they pull and pull and Alec's muscles are strong, but they're not this strong. "Ben, it's not opening. Why did you shut it?" Alec can't take Solitary. He never could. "Ben, we're stuck."

And now Ben's panicking, too, and they both try. They pull and they pull. And pull.

But this is the kind of door that doesn't budge for clones or cats. They try so hard and get nowhere.


	9. Ice Cream

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Nine - Ice Cream_

_

* * *

_

Sam's looking around like he just lost his little red wagon, so Dean looks for it, too. The elder Winchester leans over the porch railing and scans the overgrown shrubs.

"What're we looking for, Sammy?"

"Ben."

"Ben?"

"He was just here. He's not here anymore."

Dean releases an amused chuff of air, turns back towards his brother and Bobby. Bobby's rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

"He went inside. You idgit."

"How come I didn't see him?"

"Would imagine it has somethin' to do with the fact the boy's as quiet n' quick as a cat on the hunt. They both are." Dean and Sam exchange ominous glances as Bobby laughs. "You better not _just_ be realizin' you've got your hands full."

"We're aware, Bobby." Sam sounds tired, and more than a little irritated and Dean doesn't blame the kid. Hell, there's really nothing they're more aware of right now than the fact that they've taken on a hell of a lot more than they can chew. They're running on one goddamn hour of sleep, for chrissakes, because - and well, this was Dean's fault, really, but they _had_ to be back today.

Two days. They'd said it would be two days and for all this first-in-command shit he'd been pulling recently, Dean had to make it clear to both Sam and himself that he isn't John Winchester. Dean's not gonna leave his kids for longer than they can handle.

His kids...

...He didn't just think that.

Okay, yeah he did. And it kills him a little, because they're not his kids. They're his clones. His little itty bitty clones that keep looking at him like he's their god or something. Just like Dean used to look at John. And where the hell did that get Dean? Nowhere. Nowhere and alone.

He really should check up on Alec.

"M'gonna go check up on Alec, I think. Kid's only nine. It's probably been too long."

Sam snorts. "We're lucky Ben doesn't need facial reconstruction, with how hard he was hitting."

Dean shrugs. That's probably true, and really, it's the only reason Dean's left the kid up there this long. Giving a beatdown like that really requires a long cooling down period afterwards. For everyone involved.

And then Sam says, "You know _why_ he did that, right, Dean?"

"Huh?"

"You know why Alec hit-"

"Yeah, yeah..._why_?"

Sam rolls his eyes before looking at Dean like he's the stupidest person on the planet. Dean's hands curl into fists and his fists itch a little. He wonders if Sam's gonna say that Ben looked at Alec the way Sam's looking at Dean right now. Because really, Dean would get that.

"It's because of _you_, you moron."

Because of him? But what did Dean do?

"What did I do?"

Sam throws his arms up into the air. Dean kinda wants to smile, but he refrains. "You're being deliberately stupid again."

"Am not." Sam's makin' an agitated noise now. And this time Dean really does smile. "Seriously, dude, what did I do?"

"Alec wanted your attention."

Dean's not smiling anymore. "Kid sure knows how to get it."

"You were only paying attention to Ben. You didn't even _look_ at Alec."

Dean's not sure what Sam's talking about, because of _course_ he looked at Alec. Why the hell wouldn't he look at Alec? Dean _adores_ Alec. Alec's a_dor_able. And Dean remembers getting out of the car quite clearly - he was tackled by an overzealous Ben, whom he then cuddled in a manly fashion. And then he put Ben down. And then hugged Ben some more. And _then_ he looked at Alec.

...who, at this point, was totally whaling on Ben's face.

Oh shit. _Oh shit oh shit oh shit_.

"Dude, I didn't look at Alec!"

Sam sighs. "That's what I just _said_."

Dad used to come home from hunts practically dead on his feet. Dean remembers this now because it's always there in his head, this image of Dad. The man would practically trip over his own boots on his way inside for a beer and a bed, and Sam...Sam was just a kid. Just a little kid. Dean remembers Sam rushing into Dad's arms while Dean trailed cautiously behind, remembers watching Dad hug Sam, assuring him that everything was fine, that everything had gone alright and that he was back now. And then he'd set Sam on the ground. Dean remembers Dad going inside after the reunion. Dean remembers not being spared so much as a glance. And shit, if that wasn't painful.

"We..._Sam_."

"What?"

"We shouldn't have left him alone! Why the hell did you leave him alone?"

Sam blinks. "Uh...because he hit his brother?"

But Dean's not listening. Dean's rushing into the house and up the stairs and crashing into Bobby's bedroom. Where Alec isn't.

"Alec?"

Alec's not in the bathroom. Or the closet. Or under the bed. Alec's not here.

Dean's flipping a shit.

Sam's at the top of the stairs.

"He's gone."

"What do you mean he's gone?"

"I mean he's _gone_. Where's Ben? Have you seen Ben?"

Sam hasn't seen Ben, but he tumbles down the stairs after Dean and they throw some books and cushions and shit around and yell some names.

Nothing. Nada. This entire day has been _shit_.

"They couldn't have gone far..."

"Are you kidding me? Remember how fast Alec is? Ben's gotta be just as fast. They could be miles away by now."

"Boys." Bobby's watching them from the doorway, trying to get their attention. Dean can't even focus on the guy's voice, he's so fucked in his head right now.

"Sam...you check the woods. I'm gonna get in the car, see if they're on the road."

"Y-yeah. Solid plan."

Dean's halfway out of the house when Bobby grabs the back of his shirt and throws him back into the kitchen.

"_Dean_."

"Bobby, we need to-"

"Shut your goddamn fool mouth and listen to me."

Shit. Dean doesn't want a verbal spanking. Dean doesn't have the _time_ for a verbal spanking.

"Dude, I know what you're gonna say. You're gonna tell me to take a breath and think - and I_ have_ thought. Sam says it's a sound plan. So we're gonna-"

"Did you check the basement?"

Huh?

"What?"

"Did you check the basement? Or the attic, for that matter?"

Dean hasn't checked the basement or the attic. He takes a split second to exchange a wide-eyed look with his brother before they part ways. Sam goes up, Dean goes down, and he skips the last step on the basement stairs and his heart gets caught in his throat for a second, but he recovers in record time.

"Alec? Ben?"

They're not down here. And considering the general squalor of Bobby's house, there's not much down here at all. Nothing for them to hide behind or...

...There's a weak tapping coming from the panic room.

Fuck, they're in the _panic room_?

"Boys?"

A vicious bang hits the steel door and Dean scurries, peeks through the bars for a millisecond before pulling the heavy fuck open. Both kids are white in the face, but Alec's the only one shaking like a diabetic and Ben's the one who immediately plows into Dean, wrapping needy arms around his waist.

"We got locked in...I didn't mean to..."

Ben's mumbling tearful apologies and Dean tries to shush him, tries to tell him its fine, that it was just an accident, that everything's okay now, but he can't take his eyes off of Alec, who won't look back.

This is Dean's fault. Kids couldn't have been in there for longer than ten minutes, but apparently ten minutes is long enough.

He hollers for Sam, but Bobby comes running. Then Sam comes running.

Dean isn't running. Dean is right here, looking longingly at Alec but unable to push Ben away.

"Ben? Benny..." Sam's trying. He is. But Ben won't let go.

It's chaotic for a while, with both Bobby and Sam trying to peel Ben off of Dean and Alec...Alec's still just standing in the middle of the panic room with his arms wrapped around himself. The shaking has tapered off into an occasional tremble.

"Dean...Dean, you gotta talk to him or something-"

Ben's still clinging. Dean's pretty sure that if he were to take a step forward the boy would still be hanging from his waist. Like a seventy-five pound belt.

Dean's not good at talking, though. That's Sam's thing. He'll give the occasional pep talk if the situation is dire...he'll totally chick-flick it up if someone's thinking of leaving and Dean himself is feeling really desperate. But this? This isn't one of those situations.

"Ben. Go to Sammy." He's let go of that tone he usually takes with Ben - the slightly higher pitch and the lilt. He voices this like his father would voice it, like an order. This kid's a soldier and that was an order.

And Ben releases, backs away, stands stiffly away from Dean but doesn't go to Sam. Dean accepts the defiance for what it is, runs a hand over the kid's hair on his way over to Alec.

"Hey, kitten." Dean kneels. Alec doesn't look at him. "What's say you and me blow this joint, eh?"

Alec still doesn't look at him, but Dean's got this. The kid's probably not going to look at him and he's probably not going to talk, because _he's _not so good at that, either. And that's fine. Talking's for princesses. Pretty pretty princesses like Sam.

Dean rises with the boy in his arms, feels tiny limbs wrap around his neck and waist.

He murmurs to Sam on the way out, that he should take Ben into town or something. Try to find some ice cream. Or something. Anything. Make the kid feel better and then try to explain all this godforsaken family shit to him. Try to explain that this is actually normal, but just seems more fucked up because they're Winchesters. Everything's more fucked up when you're a Winchester.

Dean takes Alec up the basement stairs and then up to the second floor of Bobby's house, back into Bobby's room.

The kid fidgets in his arms, says, "I don't wanna be alone again."

Dean sits down on the bed, settles his clone in his lap, replies, "S'okay. You're not gonna be."

* * *

It's miraculous, but Sam finds ice cream. There's still a shop left standing in town and the middle-aged woman behind the counter flashes him a warm smile as she piles two chocolate scoops on top of a sugar cone.

Sam stuffs a couple of yellow napkins into Ben's tiny fist before gently placing the cone in his hand. The boy merely blinks in confusion.

"Lick it," Sam advises. "It's delicious."

The look he gets in return is wary at best, but he watches as Ben's little tongue flicks out and swipes the ice cream. Green eyes spark with unhidden delight.

The clerk asks, "Do we have a winner?"

Sam grins. "I'm pretty sure we do." He gives her a fifty cent tip on their way out. It's not much, but it's all he can afford. There's a park across the street which has gotten a little trashy, but still remains inhabitable. He grabs Ben's hand and leads him to a bench, sits him down, watches the ice cream slowly disappear.

"Good, huh?" He wipes the kid's mouth with a napkin. Sam wonders if he should be disturbed that he's always the one stuck with clone-cleaning duty, but shakes the thought away as Ben nods.

They sit for a few minutes in a silence that isn't exactly comfortable. There's weight in the air now that the ice cream is gone.

"I was bad."

If Sam was expecting anything, he wasn't expecting that.

He poses the question lightly, like he's asking to receive the pun of a joke. "You were? What'd you do?"

Ben shifts a little on the bench, peers up at Sam with huge eyes. Sam's hit with that weight in the air and it's heavier than he thought. He's seen a lot of sad things in his life, but Ben? Ben's gotta be one of the saddest.

"Dean n' Alec hate me."

"Well, that's just not true."

"Alec wanted to kill me. Dean wanted me to go away."

Sam wants to groan. It's not because he's irritated with Ben - it's a reasonable assessment for an already damaged kid after a day like today. No, the problem with the conversation that's going to happen is Dean. And Alec, because Alec is Dean only small. Sam loves his brother, and well...he guesses he loves Alec. It's only been a few days but Alec is Dean and he loves Dean so he loves all forms of Dean, but really? The last thing Sam ever wants to do? Is try to explain Dean. To anyone.

But he'll do it. For Ben.

It takes about an hour of Dean 101, but eventually Sam's got the kid convinced that Alec didn't want to kill him and that Dean freaking adores him.

"How do we cure them of this...emotional repression?" Ben wonders, and his voice is loud because his mouth is right next to Sam's ear. The kid's having his first ever piggy back ride. Sam's decided that the day shouldn't be entirely shit.

"I'm pretty sure Dean's a lost cause," Sam says honestly. "We might be able to nurture Alec out of it, though."

He ducks into a bookstore, lets Ben down, tells the kid to look around and see if there's something he'd like. He really can't afford things this frivolous...but hell, it's Dean's money in his pocket.

And he really can't let today happen again. Because Alec was shaking in the panic room. Because Alec felt neglected and then Sam deliberately neglected him some more. He didn't mean to...he didn't, but Dad...anytime Sam hit Dean or Dean hit Sam, they were left alone for a long period of time, whatever the reason.

Apparently that sort of discipline doesn't fly with genetically engineered killing machines. No, genetically engineered killing machines thrive on cuddles and ice cream.

Sam scans the titles in a section he's never given a second glance. It's been 25 minutes and he still hasn't picked anything up.

"Sam?"

Ben's tugging on his T-shirt. Sam looks down to see a book being pushed at him. He instantly recognizes the idol on the cover. _The Life of the Blessed Virgin Mary: From the Visions of Ven. Catherine Emmerich_.

"This what you want?"

Ben nods. Sam briefly wonders if he should put a disclaimer on buying this book, make sure the kid realizes that what he's reading is fantasies and superstition from a religious woman, but then he decides that they'll have that conversation if it comes up.

"What are you getting?" Ben wants to know.

"Still lookin'."

Ben wanders off to peruse some more, leaving Sam to find the perfect book.

"Awww. Is he a twin?" The girl at the counter is looking between the book and Ben, a slight smile on her face.

Sam looks down at Ben, rests a big hand on the blonde head. "Yeah, he is. Identical."

The girl coos obnoxiously. Ben looks confused, then disgusted and Sam grins, before saying no, he doesn't want a bag. He hands the Virgin Mary book back down to a happy Ben, tucks his own under his arm. He's going to see that same look of disgust again soon, when Dean sees the title of this book:

_Emotionally Healthy Twins: A New Philosophy for Parenting Two Unique Children. _

Yeah, it's going to be epic.


	10. Chocolate Milk

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Ten - Chocolate Milk_

* * *

They're halfway to Indiana and down to their last twenty bucks when Dean starts lighting into Sam. Alec listens to the argument with a vague kind of amusement as he nibbles on a Funyun, because this is the most exciting thing to have happened since they passed that painted caravan two hundred miles ago. Being in the car is boring as all hell, and the sad fact is that Ben isn't entertaining at all. He just sits quietly with that book in his lap, staring at the cover with wistful green eyes.

"You wasted money on _books_," Dean's saying, and Alec giggles quietly to himself because he's never heard the word 'books' said in quite this way before. Like books are the most frivolous thing ever, even more so than those abundantly awesome light-up sneakers Alec so wanted back in North Dakota. "We could've gotten the kids more clothes, but you go and spend money on _books_. And how in the goddamn hell are we supposed to get a place for the night?"

"It wasn't a _waste_, Dean." And, yeah, Alec's been hearing this one for days. This is Sam's diatribe about how they're raising _twins_ now, and how they have no freaking clue what they're doing, so they're probably going to require some help from _experts_. This is exactly what Alec hears now.

And Dean chokes on something that sounds like it's neither a laugh nor a guffaw, but a fine mixture of both, before saying, "They're not experts, Sammy. They're just people who are sharing their experience and making a quick buck in the process. Hell, when Alec and Benny are all grown, I'm going to write a freaking parenting book. It's going to be called _Raising My Transgenic Clones: Memories and Parenting Advice from Dean Winchester._" Sam huffs. Dean aims a sideways look at his brother as he steers the car, smirks and adds, "I bet you'll buy that one, too, huh, geek?"

Three hours later, it's mid-afternoon, and Sam's complaining that no one's gonna buy a parenting book that involves taking two nine-year-olds into a bar. If Alec thought about it logically, he would probably think that Sam's right, but as it is, instinct is telling him that this seedy, rundown joint with the rotting wood and the blinking neon sign? Hell, this is ten shades of unthinkable awesome.

"Alec, get back here!"

Alec didn't even know he was running, but Dean snatches him off the ground before he can reach the steps. It's a sad sight, that beautiful vista shrinking in the distance as Dean carries him back to the car, where Sam is trying to coerce the book out of Ben's hands.

"I don't wanna leave it…"

"Ben, sometimes people in these places aren't very nice. I just don't want someone to take it from you…"

Ben snorts. "Like someone could take_ anything_ from me."

Alec's placed on the trunk of the car, and when Dean backs up, he's pleased to see the startled looks on both Winchester faces. They don't expect something like that to come out of Ben, but if Alec can say one thing about his twin, it's that the kid's honest. He may be a whiny, clingy little bastard sometimes, but he's also an X5. And X5s? They're tough shit.

Sam tries again. "I know...Ben, I know, but you can't let anyone see that you're special, remember? It's better not to instigate problems and-"

"Sammy, just let the kid bring the book with him. Ben'll act boring and average just like you want him to."

"I've _never_ said those words, Dean-"

"Benny, just don't let anyone know that you can kick their ass without breakin' a sweat, okay? That's all that Sammy wants. If someone messes with you, let us take care of it."

"Yes, sir."

Alec grins at the superior look Dean levels at Sam. "You don't need to give 'em all that touchy-feely zen crap, Sam. You just gotta let 'em know what's up." Sam scowls. Alec giggles. Dean shoots him a look, adds, "You don't go around kicking any asses, either. Or running towards unfamiliar places."

"But it's_ beautiful_."

Sam blinks in amazement. A wide grin spreads across Dean's face. Alec feels an inexplicable sort of pride.

"Yeah, kitten, I know. Dude, get their hoodies out of the back of the car, will ya?"

Alec groans. Every time. Every freaking time they leave the car, it's "Get the hoodies, will ya?" no matter how warm it is outside.

"It's too _warm_."

"It's sixty degrees. Stop fussin'."

"But I don't _want_-"

"_I_ don't want anyone seein' your barcode. Now stop bitching and put it on."

Alec pulls the hoodie over his head, jumps down from the car. Dean's irritated, that much is obvious, but Alec knows he doesn't mean anything by it. The other day at Bobby's, Dean stayed with Alec for three whole hours. Just them. No Ben and no Sam. No Bobby, even. And they had a _tickle fight_.

Which Dean is totally trying to reenact now by digging his fingers into Alec's sides. Alec tries his best not to squeal, but fails, and jerks away.

"Stop it, Dean. I don't _wanna_ be an emotionally unhealthy twin."

Sam's eyes narrow. Ben looks caught between being angry on Sam's behalf and wanting to join in on the joke, but Dean's emotions, for once, are clear. He laughs. Really hard.

"You hear that, Sammy? Alec doesn't _want_ to be an emotionally unhealthy twin."

"Shut up, Dean."

They go into the bar, and its smokey and crowded and too hot for hoodies. Alec starts pulling at his, but Dean slaps his hand away and gives him a look before putting one hand behind Alec's neck and the other behind Ben's and steering them over to the counter. Alec beats his hand down on the surface and demands a beer.

The bartender looks bemused at best. Sam shakes his head and orders up two glasses of chocolate milk, and Dean shoves over three of his last twenty bucks with an expression of absolute mourning.

He perks up pretty fast, though, when he takes in the grungy clientele at the pool table.

"Who wants to watch Daddy play some pool?"

Both Alec and Ben chime in with loud and excited expressions of positivity, because this is what Dean expects in public whenever he uses the third person whilst posing a question. They sip their chocolate milk on two stools in close proximity to the pool table, Sam looming protectively over them.

It's really boring at first. Dean sucks, but Alec is pretty sure he's faking this overly-tattooed meathead out, because Dean doesn't usually look outwardly nervous like this, not even when really nerve-wracking things are happening. So Alec looks to Ben, who's looking at the cover of his book again.

"How come you're not reading it?"

Ben jerks his head up in surprise, then shrugs. "Her stories are both boring and false."

"How d'you know they're false?"

Ben shrugs again. Alec finds it kind of infuriating, actually. What's even worse is when Ben answers his question with, "I just do" and returns to staring at the goddamn book cover again.

Alec sighs. This? Is. Boring. Dean's looking like a nervous woman and Sam's bouncing around on the balls of his feet, probably waiting to be tagged into the game. So Alec takes in the scenery, all these roughneck men and women wearing sleazy leather and torn fabrics, all the designs injected into their skin, most of which are absolutely meaningless. The most interesting thing about these people is that their pockets are bulging.

Alec is drawn to bulging pockets like a magnet to iron. He slips from his stool and starts wandering around, greeting people, because he somehow innately knows that this is something that works when you're as tiny and cute as Alec is. Not to mention there's been more than a little trial and error with Sam and Dean - hell, you put just the right amount of sadness in your eyes and those guys are more malleable than freaking clay.

So he wanders around for a good half hour, meeting and greeting and asking questions and batting his eyes and pouting and generally playing the part of the precocious child to a tee. These people are frightening-looking, but Alec's not frightened. Alec doesn't have to be frightened because Alec has award-winning charisma.

"Aren't you just a_dor_able?"

Alec nods, lets the woman run her nicotine-stained fingers through his hair. "I really am," he tells her, and he snuggles his face into her foul-smelling shirt just long enough to reach into her purse and pull out a wallet. He tucks it quickly away, smiles at her again, before dashing off to his next customer. He can't help but think that hoodies are good for at least one thing: stealing shit.

Sam looks worried and irritated when he finally gets a hold of Alec, drags him back to the pool table by the hand.

"What did we tell you about wandering off?"

"Uh...I'm sorry?"

Alec doesn't really remember anything about a conversation that involved 'wandering off,' but okay. Besides, the fact that Dean's eating some other guy's fist right now seems slightly more important.

"Dea-Daddy!" Ben's alarmed. Alec's alarmed. Sam is alarmed.

They're all very alarmed and Alec's pretty sure that if it were in his power, Sam would have nipped this thing in the bud before it could escalate to the next level.

But it's not in Sam's power, and Ben and Alec leap at the huge motherfucker before Dean can get so much as a word in. And before anyone can so much as blink, Dean's opponent is on the ground with a quickly-swelling eye and a nose that's spurting blood.

"Oh, shit," Dean says.

"Oh, _shit_," Sam says.

Alec quickly picks the guy's pocket before he's hauled off the ground, into Sam's arms. It's about a second, and they're out the door and rushing for the car. Alec waves a sad goodbye to the bar over Sam's shoulder. It was awesome while it lasted.

* * *

Two days pass before Sam finds a plethora of wallets and loose bills inside a medium-sized hoodie. Dean's out scoping a haunted apartment, has left Sam to look after the kids like he's little more than a barefoot and pregnant housewife.

"_Alec_!" Alec's in the bathroom. Sam's wishing the kid had a middle name right now. And that he wouldn't feel too abundantly weird referring to him as Winchester.

Ben looks up from his book, pen poised over a page, startled as all hell.

"What's wrong?"

"Your brother is what's wrong," Sam replies tersely. He sets the wallets out on the edge of a bed, stacks the bills neatly at the end of the line. "He's a little thief."

Ben shrugs. "I told him stealing was bad."

"Alec!" Sam marches over to the bathroom door, pounds on the wood a couple of times. "I know you can't possibly still be busy in there. Get out here. _Now_."

Forty minutes later, Sam's feeling okay with his temporary solution to this catastrophe. The stolen money's on the table, Alec's sitting quietly on the bed, and Ben's still absorbed in his book.

And then Dean returns, looking tired and harassed with a couple of bags of fast food in his hands. "Dude, that place is a _wreck_. We're dealing with it tomorrow." He sets the bags down on the table, shoves his hand in one and pulls out a fry which he then stuffs in his mouth. Sam observes his brother closely, waiting for the question to come. And it does come - halfway through a mouthful of Dean's third fry. "What up with all the wallets, Sammy?"

"Your _clone_-"

"There's two of 'em."

"_Alec_ stole all of these!"

Dean raises an eyebrow, stuffs his mouth with yet another fry and eyes his little brother carefully before turning on one heel and looking at a particularly sulky Alec, who's bursting with the information, "Sam's making me sit on the naughty bed!"

Dean chokes on the fry. Gross little pieces fly out of his mouth and he's hacking and laughing and his eyes are tearing up. Sam frowns, "It's not _funny_, Dean. He_ stole_-"

"The...The n-naughty bed? Sam? Seriously?"

"_Dean_."

But Dean's laughing so hard, he's practically hyperventilating. Ben's looking up from his book, brow furrowing in worry.

"Is Dean dying?"

"I've been on here forever!" Alec says, crawling towards the edge of the bed on his hands and knees to get closer to Dean.

"_Alec_-"

But Alec's already climbed off the mattress and situated his arms around Dean's waist. Sam's angry and spluttering but Alec's looking up at Dean's delighted face with imploring eyes. "Sammy's cruel and unusual. He labeled the bed _naughty_."

Dean erupts into fresh peels of laughter and this time, Alec laughs with him. They're going on and on like freakin' hyenas for chrissakes and Sam's totally about to fly into a terrible whirligig of rage when his brother finally calms himself down.

"You really steal all those wallets, kitten?"

Alec nods, grins. "Uh huh."

Dean snorts. "Eat your dinner. You can go to bed afterwards. And no ice cream."

"It's only-"

"You don't get to start stealing in this family until the ripe old age of fourteen. You're nine. No ice cream."

"There's ice cream?" Ben looks hopeful. Alec looks truly devastated. Sam's starting to feel pretty terrible about the whole ordeal.

Ben's eating his ice cream and Alec's in the bathroom when Dean looks at Sam quite seriously and says, "I let you watch too much _Nanny 911_ a few years back, didn't I?"

"It was _Supernanny_, Dean. With Jo Frost."

"We are _so_ not related."

Sam isn't really sure what the hell else he was supposed to do. The book and the Internet both said things about isolation and loss of privileges, but there was no place to isolate and Alec doesn't _do_ isolation. Sam had made that mistake before and he's not going to make it again. And they live in a goddamn car - it's not like the kids have toys or friends or activities. Loss of privileges Sam's ass.

"We steal all the time," Dean tells him now. "And we're not going to be hypocritical sons of bitches about this."

"We don't pick pockets, Dean. We've never picked pockets. We don't steal from people who have as little as we do."

It was one of Dad's rules. One of the few rules that Sam feels he has to uphold.

Alec comes out of the bathroom, shoots Sam a sullen look. Sam's okay with that. He'd probably be a little bitchy, too, right now, if he were Alec. He rises from the table and pulls the covers back on the bed. Alec gets in and turns his back without sparing Sam another glance.

And yeah, Sam can't take this. He leans down as he tucks the cool sheets up over the tiny hunched shoulders, whispers in the kid's ear, "Tomorrow, I'm gettin' you ice cream."

Alec turns a little, just enough so Sam can see his smile. Sam's stomach flutters a bit. He leans down again, presses a quick kiss to the kid's head. Alec nestles into his pillow, reaches a hand back to give Sam a quick pat on the arm.

Yeah, that was completely worth it, even though Dean's wearing a face that screams, "You are such a fucking _girl_."

They get Ben in bed nearly two hours later. Dean has to wrangle the book from his hands, but the kid settles down pretty fast.

"Do Alec and I get to go hunting with you tomorrow?"

Sam's about to respond with a neutral-to-negative "We'll see" when Dean cuts him off with, "You sure do, kiddo."

"Good."

Ben closes his eyes. Sam glares at his brother, but Dean pretends not to notice. He buries himself inside of Ben's book, in fact, just to keep Sam silent. Well, that's just not going to fly. Sam reaches out a large hand to rip the book away from Dean when his brother's eyes widen and pages start flipping frantically.

"Uh, Dean?"

Dean shushes him, slides the book across the table, gestures to it with an abrupt hand.

Sam raises an eyebrow, wondering what the fuck his brother is on about, but he picks the book up and opens it.

He's surprised at the first page. He's amazed by the tenth. He can't believe his eyes by page 310.

Every single word is crossed out and scrawled over with unreadable chicken scratch.

Fucking shit.


	11. Ghosts

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Eleven - Ghosts_

_

* * *

_

Dean's got two steaming cups of cheap ass coffee and two elementary-school-sized milk cartons in a cardboard drink carrier when he comes through the door the next morning. He'd almost bought four cups of coffee instead, when he'd remembered Dad using his Dean-I'm-Being-A-Good-Dad-For-The-Moment voice and telling him, in no uncertain terms, that no, nine-year-old Dean could _not_ have any coffee. Because coffee and little boys equates to both hyperactivity and stunted growth.

Anyway, Dean walks through the door and sets the drinks down on the table, and that's when he notices that Alec is picking the lock on the bathroom door.

Dean glances towards the king-sized bed, sees Ben propped up on an elbow, scribbling away in that book again, paying his brother no mind. That must mean that Sam's the one in the bathroom, and from the noise the pipes are making, the shower.

"What are you doing, kid?"

"Pickin' a lock."

Dean tries not to laugh.

After their discovery of Ben's book, after squinting at the words and trying to decipher the illegible boyish scrawl for not one, but _two_ hours, Sam had finally shaken his head in tired disappointment and fixed Dean with the bitchiest of all bitchy looks.

Apparently, _laughing at clone misbehavior_ had recently topped Sam's Top Ten List of Irritants.

"Uh huh, and why are you picking the lock?"

Alec doesn't take his eyes from his job. "Ben's gotta pee."

Dean turns to Ben. Ben looks up from his book with wide eyes and a shaking head. Dean turns back to Alec.

"Ben says this isn't the case. Why're you picking the lock?"

There's a click as the lock comes loose and Dean smirks at the mischievous half smile that lights up Alec's face.

"Sam's in the shower. If I flush the toilet, he'll scream. The TV said so."

"The TV...?"

Oh. Dean hadn't even noticed the small television on the dresser. It's turned on, even, but the grainy picture is just barely visible beneath the dust and scratches and the damn thing is either on mute or pretty close to it.

And oh God, Dean so wants to flush the toilet on his little brother.

He tries not to show this weakness to the kids, though. So he says, "That's not nice, Alec."

"S'not supposed to be nice," Alec informs him, small hand touching the doorknob. "Revenge never is."

"Revenge? Revenge for what?"

Alec gapes at Dean._ Gapes_. His mouth is opening and closing like that of a fish and the expression is over-exaggerated to all hell, and oh fuck, Dean's just going to have to face it: completely adorable.

"What do you _mean_ for what? He put me on the _naughty_ bed. For forty whole minutes."

Dean can't help himself any longer. He cracks up. The naughty bed is just too freakin' funny to talk about with a straight face, and the kid has a point - if there was ever a good reason for revenge, this is it.

"Okay, okay..." Dean wipes a few stray tears of epic hilarity away from his eyes. "But you know if you do this, you're not gettin' any ice cream today, right?" The return pout is instantaneous. Dean just wants to snatch the little bastard up and hug him hard enough to squeeze the cute out. "Alec...there's satisfaction in Sammy's girlish shrieking, but that doesn't mean it's without consequence." Alec pouts harder. Dean doesn't think he can take much more of this without flushing the toilet himself and then rushing out to the nearest Baskin Robbins. "Let's say you get one treat a day...today you have a choice. Are you choosing ice cream or torturing your Uncle Sammy?" Dean freezes when the words leave his mouth because hell, they're not in public right now and there was no real reason to refer to Sam as the kid's uncle. But he did, and he's waiting for the awkward moment, the kitten-esque head-cocking confusion from the little boy who's still fingering the knob.

But Alec's mouth just spreads into a grin.

"Torturing Sammy!"

And the kid rushes into the bathroom and flushes the toilet.

Dean covers his mouth and laughs into his hand when Sam's shriek fills the room. Alec rushes out of the bathroom, jumps onto the bed, disturbing Ben, who looks up from his book to glare at his brother.

"_Alec_-"

But Sam's running out of the bathroom now, a towel around his waist, long hair plastered to his head.

"M'gonna kill you. C'_mere_."

Alec jumps off the bed, evades Sam's long arms as he rushes past the Winchester brothers and into the bathroom. He shuts and locks the door behind him before Sam can so much as blink.

Dean's stomach hurts from too much amusement.

"_Dean_-"

"Th-there's...coffee. And milk. Benny, y'want some milk?"

Dean turns around to pick up a coffee cup and shove it at Sam. Sam's bitchface is firmly in place, but he takes the cup with a disgruntled noise before taking a long pull of the coffee. Dean kind of just wants to pinch his little brother's cheeks.

He's not sure why, but everything in his life is just too fucking cute for words these days.

* * *

Sam and Dean are arguing again. Sam's driving, and Ben guesses he's driving too slow because Dean keeps making fun of him for driving too slow. But that's ridicule and not argument. They're not arguing about the speed of the car.

"I still think it's too soon, Dean. They're too little. It's too scary."

"We're not fuckin' little," Alec protests, and Ben glares at his twin. Alec keeps swearing, and for no real reason. Ben keeps asking him about it and Alec's only response is always to shrug and reply, "_Dean_ swears."

As it is though, Dean turns around and lightly smacks the side of Alec's left leg, points at him and says, "You watch your mouth, young man."

Alec looks affronted. Ben feels slightly smug.

Sam says, "I thought you said we weren't going to be hypocritical, _Dean_."

"D'ya always have to exaggerate my name like that? Is that really necessary?"

And then they go back and forth again about how Ben and Alec are too little for ghosts. Ben doesn't really understand how Sam and Dean can possibly think that they're too little for anything. They aren't exactly the innocent children being killed on the news. Ben has blood on his hands. Alec has blood on his hands. It's all part of standard Manticore training. Training blood.

_If you were normal children, you would have training wheels._ Lydecker had paced in front of them like a drill sergeant. Behind him, the branches of the trees rustled with squirrels and breeze. Ben had known that the prisoner was in there somewhere, and his muscles in his legs had tensed and he had tried his best not to shake with excitement. _You are not normal children. You have a higher purpose than learning to ride a bike._

"We're not too little," Ben says now and there's pure thrill running under his skin as he thinks of the hunt. "Sam? We'll be okay. We're well-trained. We won't get in the way and we won't be scared."

"Benny, I know you think that, but you've never _seen_-"

"We've seen plenty. Alec and I...we've seen a lot."

Ben and Alec may have never seen ghosts, but Sam and Dean have never seen Manticore.

Sam and Dean exchange a look in the front of the car. Ben wonders what they're thinking. He heard them last night - going through his book, whispering about his writing, trying to read what Ben knows is horrific penmanship - he'd always been scolded in class for his bad penmanship.

_This is unacceptable, 493. Write it again._

Ben would write until his fingers were aching and coarse, but it never got any better. It never gets any better, but he still tries.

He expected Sam and Dean to ask him what it said this morning, but they never did. He heard Dean drag Sam outside, though, heard their voices through the thin walls, _Next time we stop at Bobby's we'll have a sit down with him...don't wanna worry Alec..._

Though what Alec would be worried about, Ben isn't sure. He's mildly concerned that he might be in trouble for ruining the book, but Sam had said that it was_ Ben's_ book...and neither of the two men seemed angry with him this morning.

Ben's words don't seem to matter to Sam, though, and Dean moans when his little brother turns the car into a library parking lot.

"Hey, we're lucky this is here," Sam protests. "I'm surprised this place still has funding. Besides, you already checked the apartment out. We just need to know what happened there. There's no reason to put the kids through more emotional trauma than necessary."

"The place is in shambles, but it's a pretty tame haunting. I'd rather ease them into it _gently _than throw them in when it's an emergency."

"I'd rather them never have to experience-"

"They're going to have to, aren't they? We can't just leave them alone all the time like Dad used to do to us. And we can't just shield them from it. It's our_ lives_, Sam."

"Well, maybe they shouldn't have our lives."

"What in the goddamn hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean what the fuck are we doing? This is fucking crazy! Throwing nine-year-olds into a haunting. We? Dean, you and I? We're fucking insane. We're un_fit_. We shouldn't have children. What we were even thinking, I'll-"

Sam stops abruptly. Probably because there are tears streaming down Ben's face, mean sticky tears Ben's desperately trying to swipe away with two frantic hands. And Alec's got his feet on the seat, and his knees up to his chin and his arms around his knees.

Dean reaches back and dabs at Ben's eyes with the sleeve of his henley, murmuring to Sam, "Great job, ace. Jo Frost teach you that one, too?"

Ben leans into the gentle touch of the cotton. He's sad as anything, right now, because Sam doesn't want them, and Ben needs Sam and Dean like he needs water, and...Ben needs. Ben's stomach is clenching and his throat is tightening and his hands are shaking and he _needs_.

He crawls into the front, into Dean's lap and Dean holds him and mumbles nice things because that's what Dean does and Sam's running a tired hand over his own face and he keeps apologizing to Ben and Alec, saying that he didn't mean that he didn't want them, he didn't mean that they weren't going to keep them, he just meant...

Ben doesn't hear what Sam meant. He's not sure Sam knew what Sam meant, but Dean eventually strokes his back one last time and tells him it's gonna be okay, and that they should head out, shouldn't they, if they wanna get this thing done today.

Ben sniffles and agrees without really knowing what he's agreeing to but he lets Dean guide him back into the backseat.

"Sam, we need to invest in some seatbelts."

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

Dean turns back around again, this time to look at Alec and reach out a hand to ruffle the already mussed hair.

"You doin' okay, kitten?"

Ben turns a heavy head to look at Alec, who looks like he's seriously considering the question. Ben, of course, knows that a joke is coming. Alec's always making jokes.

And sure enough, "I demand reparations for the emotional wounds I now carry. Sam's words cut deep."

And Dean laughs because Alec's the funny one. That's okay with Ben, because he got hugs.

Sam turns the ignition and shifts the car into reverse. They're leaving the library apparently.

"Sam?"

"We're going to the apartment. You're right. We live this life and they're ours so I guess they live this life, too."

They go to the apartment. Sam and Dean have guns and Alec and Ben have bags of salt and instructions to throw the salt if they see a spirit. Ben thinks this is a really stupid plan, but he doesn't say so because Sam puts an arm around him and presses him into his side for a moment before they go in.

The building itself is in ruins, and before they actually go in, Ben has the feeling that people don't live here anymore.

But then they go in, and there are people crouching in the hallways and stairwells and Ben knows this is because they have nowhere else to go. And there's a crazy old woman on the fourth floor and she grabs Alec and starts spouting off nonsense about beans and sprouts and Dean keeps trying to pry Alec away, keeps telling her to let go, but she doesn't and her fingernails are digging into Alec's skin so Dean kicks her.

"M'sorry," he tells her, and she's huddled against the wall and crying because she's crazy and doesn't understand. "I'm sorry, lady. I'm really sorr-"

But Sam grabs his arm and starts dragging him away before he can continue this apologetic mantra and Alec and Ben follow.

"She'll forget about it Dean. Don't feel guilty."

Sam kneels down to check Alec's arm. It looks kind of bad now, but it'll heal within the hour and Ben tells him so. Alec nods in agreement.

The ghost apartment is at the end of the hall. Dean doesn't open the door. He turns around and looks down at them and says, "If you get scared, you tell us and we'll get the hell out of there, you understand? No tough guy shit. And you keep a hand on us at all times, you got it? Don't stray. No matter what."

"I want a gun," Alec pipes up and he holds up his bag of salt with a pout. "This is _lame_."

Dean's mouth twitches a little but he doesn't smile. "We'll try to get you one for next time. Now are we clear?"

They're clear and Alec and Ben chorus their "yes, sirs" and take a fistful of fabric each - Alec claims Dean immediately, latching onto the denim of the man's jeans, and Ben feels just a tiny bit sour about that, but he shakes it away, and feels the adrenaline pump through him as Dean finally opens the door.

They edge inside, and it looks just like an everyday run down apartment with half-pulled up carpet covered in stains and sofas with stuffing coming out of them, except for that thing in the air. Ben feels it as soon as he's inside and the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand up on end.

It's cold, too, and he can see his breath in the air and he tries his best not to jump when the door slams shut behind them.

"I thought you said this was_ tame_, Dean," Sam hisses.

It's not tame. At all. Dean thought there was only one ghost, but there are two - a mother and a daughter, and the little girl keeps asking Ben if he wants to play dolls with her. He'd say yes, but half of her face is missing, a jagged knife wound trailing down from an empty eye socket to her chin, leaving her face gaping and open and Alec's the one who throws the salt at her and she goes away for a short period of time before coming back again.

She wants to play. She keeps saying she wants to play and kids don't come around anymore and Ben and Alec are cute, and they can play house and Ben can be her husband and Alec can be her baby and Alec throws more salt at her as Dean and Sam shoot her mother down.

Ben's not sure how the hell they get out of there, but they do, and Dean and Sam tell them to hang onto them through the hallways. People are asking about the shots fired and they get the hell out of the building as fast as they can. Dean herds them into the back of the car and pretty soon they're speeding towards the library, on their way to figure out who those people were and where they were buried and what the hell happened.

"Why did she want_ me_ to be the baby?" Alec wants to know. "I mean, I'm all rugged and manly and stuff."

Sam snorts. "Alec, you're a nine-year-old boy..."

"But I'm Dean's _clone_."

Dean straightens behind the wheel, throws up a hand, and emits a triumphant, "Ha!" Ben catches a glimpse of Dean's profile as he smirks at Sam before green eyes appear in the rearview, and he says to Alec, "You are _so_ gettin' ice cream."

They find the article browsing through old news in the library.

"Dude," Dean says. "Grandma did it."

Ben doesn't quite comprehend what he's hearing, but it's something about poor bastard children and religious zealots with knives and how violent deaths lead to violent spirits and this is what Sam and Dean do. They get rid of violent spirits.

They eat dinner and ice cream before going to the cemetery. Sam is very vocal about the fact that Alec doesn't actually deserve his ice cream, due to his earlier bad behavior.

"What bad behavior?" Alec wonders through a mouthful of vanilla ice cream and hot fudge.

"I think Sam means when you flushed the toilet," Ben informs him, and then asks Sam, "I deserve mine, though, right?"

"'Course you do." Sam gives Ben an indulgent smile. "You're an angel in Dean's clothing."

"And I'm not?" Alec demands, poking a dripping spoon in Sam's direction.

Sam sighs. "No. You're a Dean in Dean's clothing."

Alec huffs. Ben feels a sharp pain in his upper arm.

"Brownnoser."

"_Alec_."

Dean takes Alec's ice cream away. Ben is satisfied by this consequence, mainly because his twin looks devastated by his loss.

"Don't you pout at me, Alec. You're not gettin' it back."

Alec doesn't get his ice cream back.

They go to the cemetery around midnight and it's gross and wet and there's fog. Dean snorts and calls it stereotypical as he hauls two shovels out of the back of the Impala.

"Is this the point where we salt and burn the corpses?" Ben asks, remembering Bobby's lessons.

"This is the point where Dean and I salt and burn the corpses and you and Alec cover your eyes so you don't have to see dead things," Sam tells him and Ben snorts.

"We've seen dead things before."

Dean and Sam dig up the first casket while Alec and Ben sit against a gravestone. After a bit of wheedling, the small soldiers are granted the shovels to dig up the second, smaller casket. The Winchesters look far too surprised when the clones take about half the time.

"We're stronger than you," Alec reminds them. "And more awesome."

Dean snorts and ruffles his hair. Alec bats his hand away and insists that its true, even though Ben knows that Alec thinks Dean is the greatest thing ever. It's one of those things that's so obvious it can be left unsaid.

Sam pries open the bigger casket and Dean takes the second one.

"You guys probably shouldn't look..." Sam is worried. Sam thinks they'll be scarred for life. Ben doesn't bother trying to explain to him that they've seen fresh kill before and this is just the natural decay. Flesh eaten away by worms and time.

"Gross," Alec says, peering down at the little corpse. "There're bugs..."

"Yeah," Dean agrees.

"I don't wanna be eaten by bugs. Not ever."

There are still strands of dark hair hanging from the little girl's dead scalp. Her lips and chin have mostly been eaten away and yellow teeth still hang from the small mouth.

Sam and Dean salt the mother's corpse and hand over the canisters to Ben and Alec. They repeat the process quickly, but with care, and Ben feels like...he _knows_ they're doing a good thing here.

"Matches." Sam snaps his fingers at Dean. Dean scowls, shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Don't snap your fingers at me, you little..."

"Hurry it up, Dean."

Dean starts patting at his pockets, going through the inside and outside of his jacket, and all over his jeans.

"Uh.."

"Don't tell me you left them in the car."

"I didn't. I remember pickin' 'em up...I must've dropped 'em somewhere, Sammy."

Sam groans. "Fan_tas_tic."

They go through the holes first and come up with nothing. Ben and Alec search around the immediate area with identical results. It's gotta be like three o'clock in the morning. Ben's surprised to feel the wave of tiredness overtaking him.

"Okay, we're getting nowhere," Dean announces, swiping a hand over his perspiring forehead. "Let's retrace our steps."

Sam and Dean step back and out and tell the boys to help them look. Alec immediately hops to. Ben stays by the casket and stares at the girl's half-eaten face.

They're doing a good thing here. Ben always wants to do good things, and he always wants to feel like he belongs. He always wants to belong to Sam and Dean and Alec. But earlier, when Sam said they were crazy, said that he and Dean shouldn't have children...

No matter how good Ben is, no matter how hard he tries to not only do what he's told but go beyond the call of duty, Sam might always have these thoughts. And as long as Sam has these thoughts, its always possible that one day Ben won't belong to Sam anymore. And if he doesn't belong to Sam, then he doesn't belong to Dean.

Ben touches the matted hair with his fingers, and the yellow teeth with his eyes.

He can't make good things happen all by himself. He needs someone to watch over him.


	12. Bicycle Bell

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Twelve - Bicycle Bell_

_

* * *

_

"What about these?" Dean wants to know.

Sam glances up from the display shelf to see his brother holding up a pair of tiny, grey underpants.

"I don't know...they're a little small, aren't they?"

The fact that said tiny, grey underpants hit him in the face a second later is no surprise at all to Sam. Dean's always been one for throwing merchandise around with no regard at all for store property. He catches the garment in his hands before it falls to the ground, holds it between two fingers with an expression of distaste.

Dean picks up another pair, delicately expands them for Sam to see.

"See? They have a little Bat signal on the butt. I think the boys will like 'em. Do you think the boys will like 'em?"

Sam can't believe his ears. "Seriously?" His brother, of course, nods, looking quite unabashed. "Dean, you're seriously suggesting we waste two extra dollars on Batman underwear?"

Dean shrugs. "We have extra money."

"That Alec _stole_."

"Your point?"

Sam rolls his eyes, folds the underwear and places them back onto the shelf. "Do what you want."

"I will."

"But you're not getting Alec those sneakers. I don't care how much he begs." Sam's not quite sure when or why he became the strict parent, but it's kind of wearing him out. It's just the way they look at Dean, the way they _don't_ look at Sam...it seems easy to be the responsible one when it's what they've come to expect out of him, but at the same time it's hard as hell. Sam melts when he sees the big green eyes, too, but it's always Dean who gets hit with the look first.

"Where are they, anyway? I told 'em to stay put." His brother sounds worried, and he's glancing around the vast expanse of the Walmart boys' department, turning in circles and coming up with nothing.

"Maybe if you actually laid down the law sometime-"

"_Hey_, I lay down the law plenty. Who's the one constantly taking away their ice cream?"

"They probably shouldn't be having ice cream every day, Dean..."

But Dean's not listening. He's walking off and calling out names. Sam rolls his eyes and trails after him, is completely unsurprised when five minutes later they discover two small versions of Dean in the maze that is the women's lingerie department.

"What did I tell you two..." Dean trails off. Alec turns towards them with a scintillating smile, a large brassiere cupping his head, and approximately twenty pairs of bright-colored panties littered at his feet. Two middle-aged women pin them with looks of pure disdain.

Ben says, "We were just curious, Daddy. I didn't think we were doing anything wrong."

Sam groans, plants his face in his palm or his palm in his face. He's not sure what's reacting in what right now - his neck in defeat, or his arm in frustration. One thing is for certain though: Dean's utter lack of regard for store property? That's genetic.

They buy the underwear, herd their small brood out of the store and into the Impala before they're kicked out.

"Think we can count this as their first panty raid?" Dean asks. He closes the door shut after Ben climbs in, starts edging around to the driver's side, the plastic bag of little boy underwear still swinging from his wrist.

"No, Dean."

"I really think they could use some celebratory ice cream. It's like they graduated, or got their driver's license, or something."

"Or lost their virginity?"

Dean halts, his hand on the door handle, his face pale. "Dude, that's sick. They're just babies."

Sam smirks. "Well, they're your clones, aren't they? And if they progress anything like you, it's only gonna be a few years from now and-"

Dean points at Sam now like Dad used to point at Sam. "You shut your mouth and get in the car."

Sam gets in the car. His brother's got Zeppelin playing, again, as always, and the boys are quiet for a few hours in the back seat, so Sam just presses his head against the cool glass of the window and closes his eyes. Sometimes, when he does this, he can pretend he's alone. He's been doing it for years - just zoning out for the hell of it, trying not to think, just feeling the rumble and rhythm of the Impala as she gets them where they need to go. He remembers doing this when he was just a kid, just a little kid of about eight, when Dad wasn't talking and Dean was talking too much. This is all the privacy Sam has ever possessed in a car full of Winchesters.

"Give it _back_, Ben."

And it never lasts long.

"No. You shouldn't have it anyway. You _stole_ it."

Sam sighs, reaches for the volume knob, hits his brother in the shoulder when his hand is nearly slapped away.

"Stole what?"

"_This_."

Sam turns around. Ben's holding the object up, jerking it away from Alec's grabby little hands. Sam looks at the diminutive thief with perplexed eyes.

"Alec?" he asks slowly. "Why did you steal a bicycle bell?"

"It was _shiny_," Alec replies defensively, green eyes shimmering with condescension. "Stop asking dumb questions."

Sam remembers that look, remembers that voice and that tone and those words. Except Sam was five, the last time he'd been here, when Dean was nine and looking at him like he was an idiot.

"Benny, give it to me."

Ben hands over the bell, looking regretful and apologetic like this is all his fault. And Alec's halfway out of the backseat in an instant, snatching the bell out of Sam's grip with a vicious pull.

"_Alec_."

"I stole it. It's mine." And the kid smirks and rings the bell. Twice.

"You don't know what stealing means," Ben informs his twin. "If you stole it, it can't be yours."

"Wrong." And Alec rings the bell again.

"I'm _not _wrong. You're bastardizing words."

"You swore."

"I did not, Alec. It's a perfectly legitimate way of saying 'debase.'"

"Wrong." The tinkling of that goddamn bell is getting on Sam's nerves.

"It's not wrong just because you say it is!"

"Wrong."

Sam gives up. He really does. He twists back around in his seat just in time to see that Dean's turning onto an exit. For all of his silence, the guy's looking pretty irate.

"Dean?"

"Rest stop."

"Why?

"You had a full ride to Stanford and you don't get the point of a rest stop, yet?"

Sam is so fucking sick of being talked down to today. He huffs and knocks his broad shoulders back into his seat and glares out the window. It's not much different than he used to act when he was sixteen, but fuck God to hell, this is _obnoxious_.

Dean slides into a parking space at the rest stop, pats Sam on the shoulder before getting out of the car.

"What?"

Dean leans down, sticks his head back in the car. "Stop looking like a bitch, bitch. I got this."

_You got what?_ Sam thinks about asking, but doesn't, because his brother's already opening the back door and dragging Alec out of the car. So apparently, Dean's not going to take a piss.

"Where're they going?" Ben asks.

"Dunno."

Sam gets out of the car, though, and so does Ben and they watch as Dean leads Alec to a far off bench where they both sit down for what Sam assumes is a discussion about proper ways to behave in the Impala.

"Are you mad at us?"

Sam's caught off guard, but he turns around and looks down and there's Ben looking up at him with big, earnest eyes and Sam thinks he might just vomit from how awful he suddenly feels.

"No...Benny, no. Why would you think that?"

"You seem mad. You always seem mad."

Sam feels perplexed. He's feeling perplexed way too often these days. And apparently, he's mad. Always mad. Sam's irritated, frustrated, tired...but he's not mad. It's been a long few weeks, is all.

"Sometimes I think you don't like us." The confession is quiet, and Ben's not looking at him anymore. Ben's looking at the ground, scuffing his toe against the pavement of the parking lot, and Sam feels like an awful person. He doesn't think he's ever felt quite as awful as he does now.

_Sometimes I think you don't like us._

He'd said that to Dad, once, when he was small and uncomprehending of their situation. And Dad had turned around, away from Sam, and wiped a hand across his face before looking back at Sam and telling him that of _course_ Dad liked them. Dad loved them. He just...he was trying so hard to get things right, was all.

So Sam kneels now, because he's too damn tall for the kind of interaction necessary for a moment like this, places large hands on small shoulders.

"'Course I like you. How could I not like you?" Ben looks away and Sam frowns, pulls the little boy forward, closer. "How could I not like you?" he repeats. "You're Ben. You're awesome." It's what Dean would say. Dean would say the right thing here, so Sam says what Dean would say. Ben's still not looking at him though, and Sam's almost afraid the words aren't enough when little feet step forward just two more steps and tiny arms wrap warm and secure around his neck.

"M'I yours?" Ben wants to know. "Yours 'n Dean's?"

Sam breathes into the little neck, gets to his feet with the kid in his arms because he at least can do this right. He might not be the best at being the cool one or saying the right things all the time, but hugging? Sam's got hugging _down_.

"You're mine," he agrees. "Mine and Dean's."

Ben clings to Sam like he usually clings to Dean. Sam wonders if Dean feels like this, if this is a universal feeling, if this is that feeling he's been missing since these two magically appeared in their lives. The weight is warm and pure and beautiful and Sam feels for the first time like he gets it. And it's not that holding Alec was never gratifying, it's just that...the need was missing. Every single inch and pound of Ben emanates need. Sam is needed for more than knowledge of tactics from parenting books and reality television. Sam is needed because he's Sam.

There's a breeze in the air and it nips a little because it's getting chilly, but Sam barely notices it. A woman in dark glasses passes them, nods and smiles, but Sam barely notices her even as he nods back. All that exists right now is Sam and Ben.

"Sam?"

And Dean.

Sam looks up at his brother, a little irritated that his perfect parental moment is being interrupted. Dean smirks, opens his arms, waves his fingers towards himself a little, indicating that he's going to take Ben now.

"What?"

"Gimme the kid."

"Why?"

"Because Alec's got somethin' he wants to say to you. And I want Benny cuddles."

If it weren't for the fact that Ben would probably be offended, Sam would so totally make fun of his brother for professing a longing for "Benny cuddles." As it is, though, he reluctantly hands Ben over, looks down at Alec who's looking at the ground and scuffing his shoes much like Ben was earlier.

This is different, though.

"M'sorry I was rude to you in the car, Uncle Sammy. And m'sorry I snatched the bell out of your hand after you took it away. Though, I have to say, it's not my fault I have superior reflexes and-"

"Alec..." Dean's all gruff and warning and Sam's more than a little surprised that this is on his behalf.

"M'sorry," Alec says again. And he pulls the bell out his hoodie pocket and hands it to Sam. "Dean- I mean, Daddy says I have to give this to you now, because I acted like a little asshole-"

"I didn't say to call yourself an asshole, Alec. Try again."

"How m'I supposed to get through this with you interruptin' me all the time? Anyway, m'sorry I was disrespectful and you deserve better because you're awesome and stuff. I realize now that my attitude and behavior were unfitting of a clone of Dean Winchester in the environment of the most awesome car to ever roar across the western plains and will you please forgive me?"

Sam snorts, looks at the bicycle bell in his hand, rings it once. "Sure, why not?"

"I expect that back at some point you know," Alec tells him.

"Maybe when you're thirty."

"How come you get it, then? _You're_ not even thirty."

"Closer to it than you."

Alec rolls his eyes. Then he fidgets, looks back down at the ground. "Do I get _my_ hug, now?"

Sam wonders briefly when he became the guy to hug before opening his arms to catch the quick impact that is Alec.

"M'sorry," the boy says again, and this time he sounds earnest and sincere. "I really didn't mean it. Sittin' in the car all the time is just so _boring_."

"Yeah, gets to me, too."

It does. It really does. Sam leans down and kisses the kid's head, because hell, it's all forgiven, and Sam may be the sentimental Winchester, but this was a little more family drama than even he's up for in one go.

Alec releases him, though he keeps an inexplicable hand latched to the fabric of Sam's shirt on the way back to the Impala. Dean smirks when Sam looks at him for an explanation, raises an eyebrow. Sam rings the bicycle bell one more time.

"You're puttin' that thing in the trunk, by the way," his brother tells him, arms still full of Ben. "It's either that or I throw it out the window while we're doing 90."

Sam throws the bell in the trunk.

He gets into the car just as Dean's starting the engine. Their boys are quiet and sleepy-eyed in the back seat. Sam puts his head against the cool glass of the window and closes his eyes, but this time he doesn't pretend he's alone.


	13. Candy Wrappers

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Thirteen - Candy Wrappers_

_

* * *

_

The motel room is a box filled with a king-sized bed and a weather-beaten dresser. Dean yawns and blinks and tries to keep his eyes open as he shuts the door behind himself and his brood, but this is pretty much impossible. He's just driven twelve hours straight and he's fucking tired as all hell, and when he closes his eyes all he sees is road and when he opens his eyes, all he sees is that goddamn bed. His brain is fuzzy and the fuzz is heavy. There's two duffels, one slung over each broad shoulder, and he dumps them at the side of the dresser.

"Dean?"

The weight pressing into his right side is like a blanket of warm bones, and so is the one that follows suit, the one that pushes into his left. Dean looks down and all he sees is wide-eyed green.

"Bedtime," he grunts and he opens his mouth again long enough to catch a few flies. It's most unfortunate, but his yawns aren't contagious.

Alec nudges into Dean's hip, preens into the hand that obediently falls onto his head. "I bet I could still catch Sam."

Sam. Sam went to a bar. Sam's bringing home the bacon so they can pay for this room for a few more nights.

"Sam's long gone, kitten."

"There's no television in this room," Ben notes and Dean's lips lift in a lazy smile at the hint of disappointment that's trying its best not to shine through.

"M'sorry, Benny. Maybe next time."

"I wanna go to the bar," Alec insists. "Sam's probably in need of some aid. He's not very devious, y'know. We'll be lucky if he comes home with enough to feed us in the morning. _I _could be an invaluable asset to the garnering of more income."

Dean snorts, lifts his hand from the boy's head only to place it on the back of the small neck, gives the kid a delicate push in the direction of the bags. "Sam's plenty devious, kid. Go get ready for bed."

"But I wanna go to the _bar_."

The sound that comes out of Dean's mouth is low and rumbling with vexation. Alec's not intimidated, though. Kid's got his mouth hanging open, and his eyes are bright with mischief and amazement.

"Did you just _growl_?"

"Bathroom, Alec. Brush your teeth-"

"You _did_. You _growled_."

"-wash your face-"

"Do it again!"

"-take a leak. Now."

Alec sticks out a stiff finger, pokes Dean in the abdomen, repeats, "Do it again."

Ben's been quiet for some time, but now he groans, slides his sneakered feet over to the dropped duffels and starts rummaging through one for bathroom supplies.

"I'll go first," he grumbles, and Dean shoots the kid an approving and grateful look, is half-tempted to look back down at Alec and ask him why he can't be more like his brother. Ben's a freakin' angel and Dean often wonders how someone so hellbent on retaining a sense of moral regard came from the same stuff as Alec. From Dean.

"Thanks, Benny."

And Ben turns his head from where it's bent over the bag for a moment, a gentle and toothy smile aimed in Dean's direction. "You're welcome." And the kid skirts off to the bathroom, arms full of sleepwear and a toothbrush.

There's still a small finger jabbed into Dean's abs. Alec's eyes are as impish as his smirk.

"I think your instincts are all whacked out," Dean tells him, snatching the finger and maneuvering it away from his body. "Should I be worried, Alec?"

Alec blinks. "About what?"

"If a bear growled at you, would you poke it?

The boy looks at his feet and Dean thinks that the kid is actually just a tiny bit ashamed for irritating him when he's tired as fuck. But then Alec peers back up, levels him with a serious look. "What kind of bear?"

Dean runs a hand over his face. "This isn't cute. I'm tired."

"But what kind-"

"Grizzly. A grizzly bear. A big one who you just woke up from hibernation. If that bear growled, would you poke it?"

"Maybe."

"_Maybe_? What do you mean maybe, Alec?"

"I might poke a grizzly bear just woken from hibernation. Probably not with my finger, but with a carefully measured stick to make sure I got out of its cave unscathed. I mean, obviously I could outrun it, especially if its disoriented from sleep." Small shoulders shrug. "It would probably be good for a few laughs and afterwards, I could break out the story to impress the ladies."

Dean runs a startled and nervous hand through his hair. "The ladies?" Alec grins as he bites down on his bottom lip, swaying a little on his feet as he looks at Dean through long lashes. Dean's sleepy brain tries to comprehend how the innocence in this child is somehow so wide and yet so limited. "You're not funny."

"Not funny? I'm hilarious." Alec is offended.

Dean grunts and sidesteps the kid, kneels next to one of the bags to find Alec's small amount of supplies. "Usually you are," he says, pulling out a T-shirt which is somewhat tolerable in odor. "Tonight you're annoying." And he flings the shirt back, glances over his shoulder to make sure it hit its target.

Alec pulls the garment from his head, glares. "I want to go to the bar."

Dean wonders if this is how Sam used to feel sometimes, when it was just the two of them and Sam was tired, but Dean was both not tired and unwilling to leave his little brother alone.

"Sorry, you missed your ride," he tells Alec.

"Your _face_ missed your ride."

Maybe in ten years time, when the boys are all grown and Dean's fighting to overcome the trials and tribulations of middle-age, he'll apologize to Sam for all those years of 'your face' comments.

Ben comes out of the bathroom smelling of spearmint toothpaste and standard motel soap.

"I'm still not tired," he admits, depositing a bundle of dirty clothes into Dean's arms. "I wish we had a TV. Laying in bed is boring and we left all the books in the car with Sam."

"There's a bible in the dresser," Alec tells him.

"I don't like the Bible," Ben replies. "It's only good for exorcisms."

Dean chuckles, then sobers when Alec glares at him. "What?"

"Ben's not the funny one," Alec informs him. "_I'm_ the funny one."

"Ben's plenty funny," Dean replies. Then, to Ben, "You're funny, Benny."

Ben eyes him curiously. "I wasn't trying to be."

"That's good. That means you have natural comedic talents. You get that from me."

Ben looks like he's struggling not to point out that this is obvious, that Ben really gets most of his traits from Dean since he is in fact Dean, only small, but he doesn't. Instead, he looks at the bed and sighs.

"Do I have to get in it now?"

This kid is so good.

"If you do, I'll tell you a story while Alec's in the bathroom."

"A story?" Ben looks intrigued. "What sort of story?"

"A Dean Winchester original. You'll love it." And the kid nods and shuffles over to the bed. Just like that. Dean's amazed, especially since Alec looks like he's about to claw his tiny hands into Dean's neck. Dean's far too exhausted to deal with anymore clone defiance, however. "You get ready for bed and I'll tell _two_ stories."

"I don't care about your stories."

Dean snorts. "Bullshit. You love my stories." The kid's eyes skitter to the side, away from Dean's, because it's true, Dean knows. Alec loves his stories. He listens with a slightly open mouth and rapt attention and Dean pretty much glows inside as he rambles on. "You're not going to the bar, Alec. It's time to let that go."

The response is instant and unsurprising.

"I refuse," Alec tells him, but the defeated tone belies the words and the boy grumbles and calls Dean a few nasty names under his breath.

"I'm all of those things," Dean agrees easily. "But tonight we're still sleepin', aren't we?" Alec growls. Dean pokes him in the stomach. "Do it again."

The boy shoves him away. "We better be doin' something fun tomorrow. Like hunting a werewolf. Or a wizard."

"We don't hunt wizards, Alec," Dean says, pinching the front of the boy's shirt and pulling him back in. "And we don't poke growling bears."

"Whatever. What are we doing tomorrow?"

Dean pulls the kid closer, close enough to get a whiff of the rank shirt and he thinks about how none of them have had clean underwear in a week. "Laundry. Tomorrow we're doing laundry. And it's gonna be kickass." Alec groans as Dean lets go of his shirt and turns him around, pushes him in the direction of the bathroom. "Go. When you come out, I'm gonna tell you a story about the time I ate a kid because he didn't read the warning signs."

Alec goes. Dean tips back onto his ankles, falls onto the bed next to his more angelic clone.

"Benny, if this were _The Good Son_, you would be Elijah Wood and Alec would be Macauley Culkin."

"I don't know who those people are or what that means."

"It means you're the good one, kiddo."

Ben beams, edges over just a bit. Then a bit more. It takes roughly ten seconds before the kid's wedged into his side, smiling hopefully up at him. "Dean, did you really eat a kid once?"

"Sure did. He was delicious. We gotta wait for Alec before I tell that one, though. That one has a moral."

"You're not gonna tell me a story about a little prince named Ben, are you? Because Sam already tried that and it didn't work."

Dean snorts. "Nah. I'm gonna tell you all about a little prince named Sam who once had high hopes of being a world-renowned magician." The sound of tiny hands clapping together brings a tired grin to Dean's face. "That's my boy. I knew even you couldn't resist a little Sammy mockery once in a while."

Dean falls asleep to the sound of his own voice while two child-shaped blankets try to their best to mold into the sides of his body. He doesn't wake up, not even when Sam walks in and stumbles over the bags, falls into the dresser.

He does kind of hear the subsequent hiss of "_motherfuckin' ow_", however, and the tiny giggles that follow, and he smiles in what he believes to be an awesome dream.

* * *

"They're his," Dean tells an old woman as he unfurls a pair of tiny Batman underpants, and he smiles at her and jerks his head in Sam's direction. Sam takes in a deep, agitated breath. Then he stomps on Dean's foot. "_Ow_.."

The old woman is wearing a clean floral blouse and circular glasses with pristine lenses and the disapproval in her still vibrant blue eyes is crisp and clear when she shakes her finger at Sam and tells him to behave. Sam attempts to look shamefaced and not glare at her as she gathers her now-clean clothes from the dryer and leaves the laundromat.

Sam's not sure why his brother feels the need to talk to random people in random situations, but it's really irritating when they're shoving things like little boy underwear into washing machines.

"Dean, stop talking to strangers."

Dean smirks as he fishes through a pair of tiny jeans pockets and pulls out a few green bills and a shiny key-ring. Sam gapes at the discoveries, shoves his brother lightly in the arm.

Dean snorts and shoves him back, looks fondly at the money before pocketing it. "My little klepto."

"It's not cute, man."

"It's a little cute."

Sam clenches his hands into irate fists and glances in the direction of the door. The laundromat is far more crowded than any small space should be and Dean had given the boys permission to hang outside on the sidewalk upon seeing the heaps of other children waiting for their parents. At this point, Sam's pretty sure allowing the boys freedom from their invisible leash wasn't such a good idea - Alec's probably stealing the shirt off some poor kid's back right now.

"You want him to grow up to be a criminal?"

Dean shrugs as he dumps the tiny jeans into the washer, picks up another pair, and pulls out a few empty candy wrappers from the back pocket. Sam's surprised to see his brother's face stone over, the mouth set in a firm and straight line. Because really? Candy wrappers?

"Dean?"

"I'll have a talk with him. Kid's been holding out on us."

Sam hits his forehead with the palm of his hand, swipes it down his face. He can't believe that it's been 26 years and he still can't get his brother's priorities straight.

Dean toes him in the shin with a booted foot, berates, "Dude, stop standing around prissing and help me out here, will you?"

Sam's mouth is open and ready to snap back a retort when a pair of old brown corduroys he used to wear when he was about 8 years old smack him in the face. Ben's been wearing them recently, though they're a bit big on the kid and tend to slide down when he runs. Sam keeps telling Dean they need to invest in some child-sized belts, but Dean keeps buying cartoon-printed underwear instead. And when Sam brings this up, Dean looks at him quite sternly and says in his serious voice, "Dude, don't call Batman a cartoon."

"You're such a jerk," he grumbles now, and he's not saying it light-heartedly, either. Dean's a jerk. The jerkiest jerk of all the jerks.

"Shut up and look through the pockets."

"These are _Ben's_. Not Alec's," Sam snaps, but he looks through the pockets, anyway, because maybe Alec shares his stolen candy with his brother.

Not that Ben would take it, Sam muses. Ben's moral character is as strong as a brick house, and this is a thing that never ceases to amaze the younger of the Winchester brothers.

Sam edges his hand into a back pocket and finds a hole big enough to stick one of his large fingers through. Dean barks a laugh when he see the wriggling finger and tells Sam to take up sewing, to which Sam replies with a few choice words he wouldn't want the clones to hear.

The other back pocket is both intact and empty and Sam feels his way through the front pockets, is surprised to feel debris pooled at the bottom of the left one. He scoops it out, is aware of about four small objects in the palm of his hand as he opens his fingers and looks down.

What he sees are yellow and jagged and he blinks because he can't quite believe his eyes, and he kind of wants to shake this shit out of his hand, and part of him wants to vomit and part of him wants to yell, but his mouth is too busy urgently hissing his brother's name.

"Are those teeth?" Dean sounds amazed and terrified. Dean sounds amazed and terrified because these are teeth. Tiny teeth. A child's teeth. Carelessly extracted teeth. "You pulled those out of...?" He eyes the pants, his face ashen as Sam nods numbly. "Sam...where...what..." Dean loses his voice but his mouth keeps working and Sam sees the lips form Ben's name.

"I don't know," Sam mumbles, and he closes his hand around the teeth and dumps them into his own pocket. "Maybe he found them...just...let's just do the laundry, Dean. We'll ask him about it while we're waiting, okay? Let's finish up here."

They finish up in silence. Sam doesn't want to leave their clothes. He really doesn't, and he's pretty sure they're going to get taken and that's going to suck more than they can afford, but he follows Dean outside anyway. There's a group of boys huddled around their boys, listening with rapt attention to a story about...about...

"And then he waved the little wooden stick he liked to call his 'wand' in the air while spouting off some magical junk and a woman made of plastic appeared," Alec says and there are both gasps and jeers from the crowd. Sam exchanges a look with Dean, is amazed when Alec ignores the other boys and continues, "He told her all about how he was a world-renowned magician and how he embarked on great adventures saving innocents from evil clowns."

"_Dean_."

Sam's voice must be loud because Alec and Ben notice them for the first time and six or seven kids Sam doesn't even know turn to glare at him. Dean looks like he's trying to snicker but his face is still pale and his voice is strained when he says it's time to go.

Ben skips obediently forward and accepts Dean's outstretched hand. Sam catches the standard pre-pubescent whispers of 'pansy' and 'baby' emitting from the other kids and he glares as Alec comes forward with a flush to his cheeks to walk by Sam's side.

"I thought you said we were going to be here a long time," Alec says, dragging his feet a little as they trail Dean and Ben back to the Impala.

"We were," Sam tells him. "Change of plans."

Alec mumbles something a little sour, but he's quiet after that. Sam keeps looking between his brother's tense back and Ben's head and he sees Ben look up at Dean and hears the quiet question.

"Are you mad at me?"

And his brother's form slouches just a little as they reach their home of black alloy and wheels. Dean's voice is quiet and serious, and so are his words. "Nobody's mad at you, kid."

Alec and Ben climb in the back. Dean gets behind the wheel and Sam takes his place next to him, and he can't help but feel like this is how it always is. It's just like always, but without the comfort of knowing that ghosts are their biggest problem.


	14. Lady

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Fourteen - Lady_

_

* * *

_

Ben doesn't understand what's going on. Dean's got him by the hand, is pulling him gently into the room and Ben has absolutely no idea why the man's so quiet and tense, or why he's almost certain he smells it - that smell of a man who's just been rushed down by ten vicious waist-high humans driven by another man's orders, that smell of children as their slippered and bare feet pound against the grass, hitting the ground to avoid the bullets, skin dripping with unfathomably cold sweat. Ben has no idea why Dean smells so afraid.

Ben doesn't understand what's going on, but he knows he wants it to stop. He feels strong hands underneath his armpits as Dean lifts him up and sits him down on the bed.

"Alec," Sam's saying and Ben takes nervous eyes off of Dean for moment, aims his gaze past the man's left side to see Sam tugging the hoodie off of Ben's indignant twin. Alec pats down his mussed hair, shoves at Sam with an irate hand.

"I can take off my own clothes, Sam."

Sam ignores him. "I want you to go in the bathroom and take a shower."

Alec glares. "Why?"

"Because you smell, that's why."

"I do _not_. I took a bath just two days ago."

"Alec." Dean cuts Sam to the chase and his voice is low and firm and trying its best to maintain control. The sound of it makes Ben want to hyperventilate, but only after running far, far away. "Drop the attitude and do as you're told, kid."

The surprise drops away from Alec's face in an instant to be replaced first by defiance and then by perplexity. He looks first at Dean, then he looks at Ben. Their eyes lock and it's not that Ben wants Alec to know what he's feeling, it's not that Ben wants Alec to see that he's scared as fuck (_Yes, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Forgive him._), it's just that he can't help it. Alec knows. Alec will always know because the only real difference between them is that last digit on the end of their designations. This is something that Ben knows.

"Why are you trying to get rid of me?" Alec asks and he doesn't look at Dean while he addresses him, and he doesn't look at Sam. For the moment, at least, Alec only has eyes for Ben. "What's wrong with Ben?"

"Nothing's wrong with Ben-" Sam tries to lie. Ben knows it's a lie. Sam thinks there's something wrong with Ben. Ben is defective. Ben isn't meant for this room, for any room outside. Ben was meant for the basement.

"Bullshit," Alec snarls, and he backs up when Sam unthinkingly steps forward, jerks away when Dean reaches a hand out to grab or console him, Ben's not sure which. Alec sidesteps both of them to climb onto the bed and attach himself to Ben's side. "I'm not taking a cuntsucking shower. You might be possessed or something."

"Alec." Dean wipes a hand down his face. His eyes are drawn and tired and weighted down with concern. "We're not possessed, kiddo. We just need to talk to Ben."

"Yeah? Well, he doesn't want to talk to _you_." Alec's so angry, he's vibrating. Ben presses into him, tries to disappear into his twin. Alec knows. Alec will always know, and he wraps a buzzing hand around Ben's wrist, glares at Dean. "You're scaring him. You're scaring my brother. You don't get to do that."

Ben wants to protest. Ben wants to say that he's not scared, that he's only nervous and that people don't get to make him nervous because 'nervous' sounds better than 'scared.' Ben wants to say this, but he can't. Ben's mouth won't work. Ben is defective and terrified.

And Dean sees that now, apparently. Dean's kneeling in front of him and putting his hands on Ben's knees and telling him not to be scared. "I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you," Dean says. He's always saying that and Ben's always believing him, but he can't believe him this time.

Dean smells like fear because he's afraid of Ben. Dean's afraid of Ben because Ben is defective and things that are defective belong in the basement. And the basement is full of scary things.

"Benny," Dean's earnest now. "I'm not mad at you, sweetheart. Sam and I just need to ask you about something. If you want Alec to stay, he can stay."

Ben wants Alec to stay. He indicates this by taking his free hand and using it to cover the hand Alec's gripping him with.

Dean nods and looks at Sam who starts fishing through his pockets. The taller man approaches with his fist closed around his findings, kneels carefully next to Dean and deposits whatever it is into his older brother's hand. Dean closes his eyes for a moment. It's a long moment and Ben watches as the man takes a breath before opening them, focuses in on Ben.

"We found these in your pants, Benny," he says. "We need to know where they came from." Dean opens his hand.

The gift. They want to know about the gift? Ben is caught somewhere between relief and confusion and he finds the conflicting feelings to be pretty disorienting as he sighs and tries to explain.

"They're for the Blue Lady," he tells them, and his voice is hoarse and tight from the previous tension. "I got them from the girl."

"The Blue Lady?" Dean's brows knit together.

"The girl?" Sam's brows knit together. He nudges his brother with an elbow and explains, "The Virgin Mary."

"Huh?"

"Ben calls the Virgin Mary the Blue Lady. How do you not know this?"

"Well, I'm _sorry_ that I'm so busy driving and trying to put food on the table, you fucking trophy wife-"

"_Guys_." Alec isn't buzzing anymore, but he's tense and Ben turns his head to see his twin's eyes aren't focused on anyone in the room, but on the wall. "Matters at hand."

Sam shakes his head like he's trying to clear it and his hair whips around a little bit, conjures up a breeze that skims Ben's arm. "What girl, Ben? Who gave you these?"

"She didn't _give_ them to me-"

"He stole them," Alec interrupts and he doesn't look happy about it. "He stole them from the girl in the graveyard. The corpse. We left you alone with the corpse." Alec pulls his hand away. Ben's skin stings for no other reason than the fact that Alec's hand isn't there anymore. And then Alec's off the bed and looking at him and saying, "You've always thought your stories were real. At Manticore...all that shit you used to tell me. You thought that was real? And that thing you did with your unit. The offering." Alec's face is stony with hurt and disgust. "That wasn't...you weren't making that up, were you? Or you didn't think you were. You didn't think you were making any of it up."

"Alec?" Ben doesn't understand. Ben doesn't know what Alec's going on about. "Alec, what are you talking about?"

"You pulled the teeth out of a man you just killed and you offered them, Ben. You offered them to your imaginary friend."

Imaginary.

Ben's flying. He's flying off the bed and his palms are wide but his fingers are crooked in, ready to latch into his twin's skin because how _dare _Alec. How dare Alec call the Lady anything but great and present. She's real. She is. He knows she is. She helped them when they were sick. She helped them get out of Manticore. She helped them find Sam and Dean and it's the greatest thing anyone's ever done for him. Alec's just mad because Ben wants to thank her by being right and good and not an amoral thief.

He smacks into a hard body, twists with it onto the floor. Dean. Dean's arms are gripping him with as much strength as the man possesses and its just barely keeping Ben down as he fights and flails to get loose.

Alec finally allows an ashen-faced Sam to herd him into the bathroom, but he stops in the threshold and looks at Ben who is still all arms and legs and trying to get away. "I'll...I'll be in here, Ben. If you need me."

The door closes and Alec's not here anymore. Alec doesn't want to be here unless he has to be here. Ben goes limp. His breathing is heavy and so is Dean's. Dean's chest is rising and falling and Ben's balanced on him like a bottle on a rail just waiting to be shot.

"She's real," he says quietly. "I know she's real."

Sam scrubs a hand over his left eye and he doesn't look at Ben. Sam can't look at Ben because Ben's an ugly, defective thing that nobody wants to look at anymore.

Dean's arms have loosened around him, but neither of them move. They just stay on the floor. Ben keeps talking. "She's real and she looks after me if I give her something in return."

Dean shifts, hefts Ben up so he can sit upright. Ben tries to scramble off the man's lap but Dean's quick for someone lacking the X5 genetic code. Hands that don't even seem tired grip him by the arms and haul him back. There's heavy breath on Ben's neck and it moves up to his ear, tickling it with it's closeness. "Who looks after you?"

Ben blinks, wonders how Dean missed that entire conversation that just happened. "The Lady."

Dean shakes his head back and forth just slightly and Ben feels the weight of the man's chin drop onto his own head. "No, Benny. Who looks after you?" Ben's hands are small. He realizes this as Dean picks them up in his own hands, rests them on his open palms. "I know you know this. You're a genius. You couldn't not know this." Ben's legs are short. Dean's got his legs outstretched on the carpet and Ben's legs are between Dean's legs, his feet ending right where the man's calves begin. Ben's feet are small feet. Dean drops his head down, puts his cheek against the top of Ben's head. The sides of his lips graze Ben's temple when he repeats,"Who looks after you?"

"You do."

"Who's here? Who's real?"

"You are, but she is-"

"She's not real, Benny. You made her up and she made everything seem better. M'dad...nobody looked after me, either, when I was your age. I made up stories sometimes to make myself feel better, too. My dad wasn't ever as good as I made him out to be." Ben's face is sticky. He feels it and tries to wrench away, wants to swipe at his face, but Dean drops one of his hands first and trails a delicate fingertip down Ben's cheek. "The things that are real are the things you can see."

"Ghosts are real." Ben's voice is almost inaudible, but Dean hears him.

"And you can see them, can't you? Most of the time."

"Other people believe in her."

"Ben?" Sam. Sam's looking at him again. Sam's getting on his knees next to them and he's asking, "The book? That book I bought you..."

Ben takes in a hitching breath because he knows where this is going. "She...she was wrong."

Sam closes his eyes. Dean doesn't. Dean is gentle and unafraid. "You thought she was so you crossed everything out. Is that right? Her stories weren't your stories."

"She was wrong."

"Only as wrong as you were. Only as wrong as anyone ever is. She couldn't see the Lady, either."

Ben hurts. Ben's stomach hurts. Ben's brain hurts. Ben's shaking in Dean's arms. "She...helped me get out of Manticore. We...we did the offering before we broke out."

"And you didn't all make it. You said. Alec said. You didn't all make it."

They didn't all make it. Hardly any of them made it.

"She wasn't looking after you, Benny. She was never looking after you."

"She was," Ben says, because he really wants it to be true. She was. She was there. He did it for Her. He was a good soldier and he executed the prisoner and he did it for Her.

"She wasn't. She wasn't looking after you. Nobody looked after you. You were scared and you were alone and then we came along." There's a hint of triumph in Dean's voice at the end of this sentence and Ben swallows the pain down his dry throat. Dean continues, "And now someone's looking after you."

Ben peers cautiously at Sam, who looks like he's trying to collect his thoughts. "Sammy's scared of me." Sam flinches like a startled horse, looks at him with wide eyes and a quickly shaking head.

Dean snorts. "Sammy's a big princess who doesn't know how to control his reactions around his family. He was the baby, kid. He never had to."

"Don't call me the baby, Dean-"

"Shut your hole and tell 'im you're not scared of him."

A gigantic hand runs over Ben's hair. Sam's eyes are all big and goopy and he admits, "I'm a_ little_ scared of you, Benny, but it's only because you're Dean's clone."

Ben turns his head away because he's pretty sure Sam is full of lies."You keep looking at me like I'm defective."

Before he can so much as suck in a breath there are fingers gripping his hips and hauling him out from between Dean's legs. Dean makes a sound of strangled indignation as 75 pounds of Ben gracelessly scrapes across his body.

Ben doesn't get it. Sam's smothering him and Ben doesn't get it. He's stuck on an even scale with the knowledge that Sam is an overly-affectionate monster who likes Ben just fine and the belief that Sam is trying to choke him to death.

"You are defective," the tall man's murmuring, and Ben feels like crying at the sound of the words. "But so m'I. All Winchesters are a little defective. It's why we belong together."

Dean nods and Ben feels a hand on his spine, sees another hand pat Sam's head. "It's true, Benny. We're a weird fucking family. People did you wrong and you got a little twisted because of it, but that's okay."

"It is?" Ben's not so sure.

"Yeah. It's fine. We're gonna make it okay again. There's gonna be a rule about teeth, though. We leave them where they are, okay?"

Ben aches, but he says, "Okay."

"I mean it, Benny. If I find anymore teeth, I'm going t'let Sam put you on his goddamn naughty bed and then m'gonna tickle you until you squeal." Fingers dig into Ben's side. He squeals. Dean's voice goes serious. "You tell us if you feel like you're not being looked after. We take care of that. Nobody else. You got me?"

It's an order. It's an order and Ben's a good soldier.

"Yes, sir."

It's hard to penetrate the fog and pain of near-disillusionment in his head, but somewhere he feels a prick, and a light weight tips the scale in knowing's favor.

* * *

Their clothes are still at the laundromat. Sam breathes a sigh of relief and even says, "Thank fucking God" under his breath as Alec rests two hands on the edge of the washer and watches as the man yanks shirts and jeans and underwear out with zest.

"Ben's fucked up, isn't he?"

An older woman beside them is looking like Alec just offended her delicate sensibilities and Alec smiles brightly and waves at her. She spins on her heel and walks away in a huff. It's pretty funny, really.

"Watch your language, Alec," Sam tells him with a sigh. "And don't wave at strangers."

"But he is, isn't he?" Alec persists. "He yanked some teeth out of a corpse. You've gotta think he's a little fucked up."

"_Alec_." Sam doesn't have much patience today. Alec can tell. The man shoves the last wet garment into their bag and and slams the washer shut, glares down at Alec with a hard gaze. "Watch your mouth."

Alec doesn't apologize. They're not talking about appropriate language right now and Sam knows it. This is about Ben, and if its about Ben, then its about Alec. He stares at Sam until the guy finally sighs and stops looking like a harassed mother.

"There's a park," Sam says, trailing a hand down the center of his scalp, "a little down the road. You wanna go there? This...this isn't a good place, Alec."

Alec understands. They could be overheard and they don't want to be overheard. They're a strange little family that has conversations about strange things and they don't want to be overheard.

"I want to go to the park, Sam."

They go to the park. There's a slide and some monkey bars and some kids still playing even though the sun's almost set. Sam mumbles under his breath about parents who don't know where their kids are.

"There's a swing. You wanna swing?"

Alec doesn't want to swing. He's never actually swinged or swung or what-the-fuck-ever before, but he knows the last thing he wants to do right now is swing.

"Ben's fucked up, isn't he?" he asks again, and it's not a question. It's not a question at all. It's a fact that he's stating. Ben's fucked up. _Isn't_ he, Sam?

"It...It's going to be hard, Alec. It's going to be hard for him for a while. We just need to look after him really well, okay?"

"Don't talk to me like I'm nine, Sam."

"But you _are_ nine."

Or ten. Alec is nine or ten and he keeps letting Sam and Dean call him nine because if that's the way they want to see it, then fine. They want to see happy-eyed children alight with the innocence of the single digits and Alec wants to let them. Usually.

"No one at Manticore is nine. They don't let us be nine."

Sam reaches down a hand, squeezes Alec's shoulder. "Well, it's a good thing you're not at Manticore, then, isn't it?"

Alec's moving unconsciously. He must be. He doesn't know how his face suddenly became pillowed in Sam's abdomen, but he's pretty sure Sam didn't do it. "I try not to be," he says, his voice muffled against the tall Winchester's shirt. "I try m'best not to be. Ben's still there, sometimes. A lot of the time. I want it to leave him alone." Sam's fingers are warm and nimble, rubbing at the back of Alec's neck. "It doesn't ever leave him alone."

It doesn't. Alec tries really, really hard to make it go away but it won't. It keeps following them in Ben's stiff stance and his need to follow orders and the guns in the trunk of the Impala and the shots. The bullets. The _bang bang bang_ of Dean shooting rock salt in a spirit's face and the bodies in the graveyard and the solitary cell in Bobby's basement. Bobby's motherfucking basement.

There are kids hanging on the monkey bars and all Alec sees are soldiers in training and those giggles, those giggles aren't allowed. They're going to be punished for that, they better look out. They'll be punished and it'll never leave them, either. Alec tries his best but Ben's still there and Alec's still there and they can never get out.

"We can never get out."

He doesn't realize he's talking. Sam leans down, though, and puts his forehead against Alec's forehead and goddamn, does Sam have a big forehead.

"You are out. You're out and you're not going back."

"They're looking for us. They're always going to be looking for us."

"That's fine. M'never gonna let them get you. We're never gonna let them get you."

They stand like that for a long time. There are still some streaks of pink and orange in the sky, but everything around them is cast in darkness. Sam straightens and asks him if he wants a piggy back ride back to the car.

Alec shakes his head. "No," he replies. "Carry me. I'm feeling faint." And he goes limp where he stands, trusts Sam to snatch him out of midair before he hits the ground. "Didja like that, Uncle Sammy? I acted just like you."

"You know, the girl jokes just aren't funny anymore," Sam grunts, hoisting the boy into a comfortable position.

Alec snickers because sometimes Sam is just so silly. "Liar. They'll never stop being funny."

Sam exhales through his nose, sounds kind of like an angry bull, but he doesn't reply. That's fine. Alec likes Irate Sam, he's a helluva guy. And he's here and Alec's here and here isn't Manticore. Not for the moment, at least.

Alec tucks his nose into Sam's neck and watches the playground fade into the distance as they make their way back to the Impala. His eyelids are drooping closed and he's surprised at his own desire to sleep. They pass a young woman on a bench. She's wearing dark glasses even though it's too dark to see and Alec's just wondering what kind of crazy person wears sunglasses at night when she lifts up her hand and waves at him. He smiles and returns the wave, thinking with a snort of Sam's scolding in the laundromat. _Don't wave at strangers._ Right.

"Sam?" he yawns. "How come some people wear sunglasses at night?"

"Hmm?"

"There was a lady wearing sunglasses. And its night."

"Maybe she's blind."

"She didn't have a stick. Or a dog."

Alec's body moves as Sam shrugs. "Maybe she's a big Corey Hart fan and feels she's gotta represent."

"Who's Corey Hart?"

Alec vibrates when Sam's body rumbles with chuckles and the man says in a mocking tone, "Kid, I have so much to teach you" and Alec grins because he's glad Sam mocks Dean sometimes when Dean's not there to defend himself. Fair is fair, and Sam's not all tiaras and bitchy looks, thank God. Sam is awesome because Dean is awesome. Alec knows this because Alec is awesome and Alec is Dean and Ben is Dean, too. So Ben is awesome. Ben is strange and fucked up and completely awesome and so are Alec and Sam and Dean.

"You're awesome," Alec tells Sam as the man tucks him into the back seat.

Sam looks surprised, and the smile that forms on his face is slow and sincere and Alec will never tell him this, but he finds it to be pretty beautiful.

"Thanks, kid. You're awesome, too."

They're awesome. Sam gets into the driver's seat and drives. They're awesome and they're going back to where Dean and Ben are. They're going home.


	15. Bears & Dogs

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Fifteen - Bears & Dogs_

_

* * *

_

This breakup is going to be a bad one. Dean can tell when he lifts the thread-strewn coverlet off the huge, but single bed he has to share with his boys and his brother yet again. He can tell because when he lifts this coverlet, he sees that Ben's back is pressed into Alec as far as it can go, so much so that the three of them - Ben, Alec, and Sam (who is up against the headboard and reading, the nerd) nearly look like a once seamless piece of pie that's been chopped up and squeezed mercilessly back together.

"Benny?" He lowers himself onto the indignant mattress which squeaks and creaks at the extra weight. "Let's let Alec breathe, huh?" Kid's obedient. Kid's always been obedient, and once Dean's got himself situated, he's got not one, but _two_ blankets, one of which is in the shape of a quivering clone.

"M'sorry."

Little fists grab and twist and clamp onto his T-shirt like steel. Dean is reminded of Sam when the kid wasn't quite so ridiculously tall, face small and scared and pale from nightmares and the knowledge that they don't go away. Not ever. Ben looks like that. He looks like if he closes his eyes, it's gonna be bad. Like if he opens his eyes, it's gonna be worse. Ben looks like it's not going to go away or ever get better.

"You're fine, kid. I've got you."

Ben rests his head on Dean's chest. Kid's shaking so hard Dean thinks he can feel the brain rattling inside the tiny skull.

"You're okay," Dean says. It's not true, of course, but it's just what you say in these situations. It's what you say when someone's trembling and cold and badly in need of whatever the hell's just been ripped away from them.

Dad used to say it to Dean when Dean was four and mute and clinging to Sammy like the baby was a teddy bear. "You're okay, Dean," he'd say, his voice trying so damn hard for sincerity. But dead men can't be sincere and that's what Dad was back then, dead and walking and unable to make things true just by saying them.

"I'm here." Dean switches it up. "I'm here, Ben." He places a warm hand on the center of the kid's back and rubs. The gesture is akin to turning on a faucet: the tears are set off hot like rockets and continue in a stream of rapid fire, dampening and then soaking Dean's shirt.

"Ben?" Alec. Alec's edging over on the bed. Alec's slinging an arm over his brother's waist. "M'here, too."

Alec glances up at Dean, green eyes simultaneously sparking with possession and need. Dean pulls his hand away from Ben's back and the boy's fingers dig deeper into his shirt until Alec's body presses into the barren space.

"Alec's here, too," Dean agrees and it's awkward, but he manages to maneuver his arm to curl around both of them. They're still small enough and close enough together that he can make this happen. They breathe. Dean sees some of the tension leave Alec, sees the boy's face soften. Ben's still shaking between them in quiet tremors.

Sam puts his book down on the night-stand and finally looks at them, a throng of three Deans in repose. Dean smirks because Sam's looking like he doesn't know what to do with himself, the lameass. That is, until Ben quietly, tearfully inquires, "Is Sam here, too?"

And the pile gets bigger.

* * *

When he wakes up in the morning, Dean maneuvers himself out from underneath his jumble of charges and tugs on some pants. There's a still-open Walgreens down the road that appears to be in good shape and Dean needs some things. He needs a few more lighters - he wasted nearly four of them trying to get those teeth to burn, and he needs some more Funyuns, damnit. They've been out of Funyuns for days and Dean and Alec (and Ben, though the kid won't admit it) have been going into withdrawal.

Today, they're heading back to Indiana. They have to make sure that spirit's gone.

"Dean?" Dean turns around to find Alec's eyes following him. "Where're you going?"

"Need to make a shopping run, buddy. I'll be back soon."

"Can I come?"

Dean hasn't even replied, but the kid's already crawling over his brother like a bleary-eyed kitten. Ben moans and rolls over until he hits Sam, tucks himself into the colossal sprawl of limbs and flesh.

Dean shrugs. "Sure. Why the hell not?" A few seconds later, Alec's thrown on some clothes and they're out the door. They're walking. There's no reason to drive, and Dean pulls the boy into his hip as they step over a few homeless people on the sidewalk. He lets him go once the path's clear, but Alec doesn't move away and the kid's quieter than any kid named Alec ever should be. Dean tucks his hand underneath the boy's hood, rests his palm on the barcode. Alec twitches a little, but doesn't look up. "Ben's going to be okay, kitten."

"He keeps crying." Alec's voice is petulance and irritation merging between heavy sheets of concern. The boy looks up at him with eyes of the same flavor, his teeth gnawing on his bottom lip in an attempt to keep his tongue caged because Dean knows what the kid really wants to say right now, and he also knows that Alec really doesn't want to say what he wants to say. _Make him stop._

"A big part of his world was ripped away. You'd cry, too."

Dean's tear ducts still work. It's on pretty rare occasion, but sometimes reality sets in and shit is worse than its been in his head for months. He finds that alcohol is a cure for such instances - or at least enough of a cure to keep him from bawling like a little kid. Ben's a kid so he has the right to just cry the fuck on. Dean writes himself a mental note to keep his booze under lock and key when the kids hit puberty, and then he shudders. _Puberty._

"I wouldn't believe in all that shit," Alec grumbles, and he kicks at the pavement with a sneakered foot. "_I_ didn't need to make up stories."

"No," Dean agrees. "You rebel. You steal and you swear and you survive and you pretend like you don't give a shit anymore, even though you do. You just don't show it."

He's barely thinking as the words come out of his mouth, but its true. When shit's really bad, Dean rebels. He steals and he swears and he survives, and sometimes he does his very best to put himself in situations where he cheats death.

Alec's got Dean's face and Dean's coping methods.

They're about a hundred feet from the drugstore when he stops walking, pulls the kid to a halt by the hood of his sweatshirt and drags him back. He says,"You tell me when it hurts."

"I'm not fucked up like Ben," Alec protests.

"They did to you what they did to him. You tell me when it hurts." The kid looks at his feet. Dean can't take that, not right now. His Alec's all twisted inside. His boys are all twisted inside. It's too early in the morning to be all twisted inside. "It won't make you a girl and I'll drop the first guy who says it does."

"I'm not-"

"Promise me." Alec doesn't look up, but he sways on his little legs, dips his head so that the top of it is pressing into Dean's stomach. "Alec?"

The kid speaks, "If you buy me candy, I'll promise you."

Dean snorts. "That's extortion."

Alec peers up at him through his lashes, his lips twisted into a delightful smirk. "I'm okay with that."

They start walking again, Dean's hand on the top of his clone's head. "Don't tell Sam about the candy, okay? He's got a stick up his ass about your sugar intake, keeps saying you're gonna get childhood diabetes."

Alec agrees as they step into the store, which is as empty as Dean expected it to be. He's quick about gathering his purchases, and he carries an armful of Funyuns and a couple of sacks of M&Ms to the front counter, plucks the remaining of the disposable lighters out of their cardboard display and drops them by the register. The clerk, who is old and half-asleep, is halfway through ringing him up when Dean notices that he no longer has a kid by his side.

"Alec?" His voice echoes, reflecting off the dirty linoleum tile, but there's no response. He looks back at the clerk, waves a hand at the mounds of snack-food and fire devices. "Uh...I'll be right back. Watch this stuff, okay? It's very important."

The guy mumbles something but Dean doesn't stand around long enough to catch what, just starts looking through aisles, feeling a little feverish when Alec isn't in the first one or the second or the third. Alec's near the back of the store, where the shelves are kind of bare but there's still stuff. Holiday stuff. Little colorful trinkets left over from the 4th of July and shit like that. Alec isn't looking at those. Alec is looking, or rather trying not to look, at a white teddy bear hanging over its wire rack.

"Alec?" The kid looks up, looks guilty, but Dean can't not say it. "We've talked about this-"

"We should get this for Ben," Alec interrupts, and he points to the bear. "Theodore Roosevelt...political cartoons..." the boy trails off, hands flailing in the air as he searches his mind for what he's trying to say. "Aw, fuck. I don't know. I read it somewhere that these are s'posed to bring comfort to children. Ben fits the criteria."

Dean blinks and then stares at the white bear, knowing full well that resistance is futile. Ben's a child who needs comfort, and Dean Winchester is going to have to suck up his last semblance of manliness and purchase a teddy bear. He nods. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, it's a good idea."

The kid's eyes brighten at the praise. Dean smirks and pulls the bear from the shelf. There are a few more behind it, different animals, and after a quick thought, Dean reaches in and pulls out a stuffed dog with absurdly large paws. He dangles it in front of his clone's eyes. "How about this one for you?"

Alec looks offended. "I don't need some little kid toy."

Dean eyes his boy, cocks his head, because he's pretty sure that if Ben needs a little kid toy, then Alec needs a little kid toy, too. Alec's shaking his head, though, little arms crossed, eyes stormy. This kind of vehemence can only mean one thing.

"M'gettin' it for you, anyway," Dean insists, tucking the dog under his arm. "For those long cold winter nights when, you know, we're not sharing a bed."

"We _always_ share a bed."

"Yeah? Well one of these days we might actually be able to get _two_ beds."

Dean shovels over the money for the dog and the bear and Alec grumbles things as the two toys are handed back down to him, encased in a plastic bag after their purchase. Dean himself carries two bags filled with the snack foods and lighters and they head back to the motel, just a man and his clone.

* * *

Ben's quiet in the car. Alec's noticed that Ben's always quiet in the car, and he keeps looking out the window and biting his lip and his eyes get all dazed. The bear's in his lap and Ben's clutching it with fists that probably don't even know how tight they are.

Ben's thinking too much. Alec knows that Ben's thinking too much. Guy's gotta chill.

"Ben?" Alec asks, but his twin doesn't move or even acknowledge him. "Hey. Hey,_ Ben_." Pinching works. Ben yips in surprise, blinks rapidly before aiming a harsh glare at Alec.

"_Alec_-"

"You want some M&M's? I want some M&Ms."

Alec fishes the M&M's out of the plastic bag at his feet. Ben's attention is occupied as they split the colors before consumption. Sam turns around in suspicion before aiming a sidelong glare at Dean and grumbling things about juvenile diabetes.

An hour later, Ben goes quiet again. That's okay, Alec would've made a terrific crab in another life.

"Alec, stop _pinching_-"

"What are you going to name your bear?"

Ben's brows furrow in confusion. "Huh?"

"Your bear. He needs a name. What're you gonna name him? I'm naming m'dog Alec the Second."

The words come slowly out of his twin's mouth. "You're naming your stuffed animal after yourself?"

"Yes, Ben. I think I may be suffering from a mild case of narcissism." Alec reaches to the floor again, where earlier, and with a distinct lack of concern, he'd allowed his toy to fall. He waves one of the big paws at Ben. "You can't tell me you're not impressed by the size of his extremities."

Sam and Dean snort in the front. Alec silently appreciates their amusement. And Ben's trying not to smile. Alec can tell. The kid's lips are tighter than his fists and the ends are twitching.

Eventually, he shrugs and mumbles, "I'll have to think about it." before turning back to the window.

"It better be good," Alec retorts.

Ben goes quiet again.

Dean stops the car just when the tears start trickling, turns around and wipes them away with his sleeve. He turns to Alec afterwards with a semi-serious expression, then aims the same one at Ben, who's trying his best to look like he'd never been crying. "Look alive, boys. We're gonna have some fireworks."

They salt and burn the teeth in an empty field with some gasoline and some gunpowder and what Dean calls "special Sammy sauce."

"Where did they go?" Ben wants to know as they head back to the Impala. He's quiet and lost and Alec's torn between wanting to kick him and wanting to hug him.

"They didn't go anywhere," Dean tells him. "They're dust." The hunter snatches up Ben's hand and asks, "Where did they go, Ben?"

"Nowhere," Ben replies, green eyes on the grass, but he has to say it again because he didn't look at Dean and Dean insists on eye contact during these somber moments. Alec hates somber moments. "Nowhere," Ben repeats, eyes on Dean's eyes. "They're dust."

_They're dust!_ Alec thinks about chiming in because he wants to be a cool kid, too, but Ben's back to impersonating a water faucet so it might not be a good time for jokes quite yet.

Dean returns to the driver's seat and starts the ignition. Their destination's another few hundred miles away and they have to keep moving. They eat Funyuns in the car for lunch. Sam fishes through the plastic bag and pulls out a handful of lighters, holds them out and looks to Dean inquiringly.

Dean shrugs one lazy shoulder. "Disposable lighters, you can never have too many. I wasted, like, four on the teeth."

"You know you're not going to burn teeth with a lighter."

"I softened them up for you. So sue me."

The banter is nice. It amuses Alec and kind of relaxes Ben and that's just fantastic because if anyone needs to relax, it's Ben. Ben's even having trouble eating right now, which is just sacrilege when the food in question is Funyuns.

"Ben's anorexic," Alec interrupts the still-quibbling Winchesters. He points a finger at his twin when Sam turns around. "I can tell because he's not eating his Funyuns."

Sam worries over Ben for a while, keeps promising they'll stop for some real food soon, real food which includes the color green. Alec makes a gagging sound. Dean snickers. Ben's eyes are wide and imploring when he asks, "Ice cream?"

Yeah, Ben's really not so bad. He comes in handy more often than not, and with this whole new level of damage, Alec's pretty sure they'll be able to wrangle whatever they want out of Sam and Dean.

"What are we doing after Indiana?" he asks, crumpling up his empty bag.

They're not sure yet. Dean says they might have to stick around the area for a few days until they find something new. Alec's okay with this plan. The motel in Indiana had a television and both he and Ben like television. Televisions make things less quiet. And it's important that things always be less quiet, Alec muses, watching his brother's arms as they wrap around the nameless bear. He plucks Alec the Second off the floor again, grips and squeezes the large paws.

They really are quite big.


	16. LightUp Sneakers

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Sixteen - Light-Up Sneakers_

_

* * *

_

"It's clean," Sam says, and Ben wonders how he knows. The apartment looks the same, with the same stained carpets and ripped-up sofas. And it's still cold. They're in mid-fall in Indiana, though, and this place has no heat. Of course it's cold.

Dean relaxes. Sam relaxes. The guns they've been holding so fast are lowered and Ben and Alec look up at them as their eyes sweep the room. Dean looks down before he even seems satisfied, as if he can feel the touch of their eyeballs, and he half-smiles even though his face is tense and more serious than usual.

"Stay alert, little dudes."

"We're alert," Alec replies quickly, and Ben nods in agreement before he even realizes that it's not true.

"You're lookin' at us," Dean counters. "You should be lookin' around."

"We have impeccable hearing," Alec argues, and Ben notes how Dean's eyes harden just a little. The man's serious business when it comes to hunting. "We're genetically superior to you and therefore-"

"_Therefore_," Dean intercedes, mouth near-scowl, "you use what you have until we're out of here. Eyes and ears. No relaxing."

"_You_ relaxed," Alec points out.

"But I was alert."

"You're not alert right now. You're too busy pointing out how _we're_ not alert."

Dean's jaw clenches and the "_Alec_" that comes out of his mouth is gruff and ominous. Alec's not about to take heed, though, and Ben knows this so he quickly bumps into his twin's side before stepping up to Dean and curling his hand around a few of the man's unoccupied fingers.

"Sam said it was clean," Ben explains. Because it's true. Because Ben wondered how Sam knew, but the trust that the statement was fact was instantaneous. If Sam says it's clean, then it's clean. His stomach lurches a little at this revelation. No trust should be so complete on the battlefield. He feels a thumb brush a strand of hair from his forehead, and he looks up and Dean's face is understanding, but kind of strained, and Sam's looking down at him too, with a soft mouth and eyes trying to shutter his pride.

"He could be wrong." Dean squeezes Ben's hand with those few fingers for a second. "He could be wrong. I could be wrong. Anybody could be wrong. You always stay alert. No matter what."

Ben swallows and nods and straightens. Always alert. Always ready. Constant vigilance. He should've known it would always be like this.

The apartment's clean, spirit-free, and Sam clarifies this again. Dean nods and they back out of the room, shut the door and consider the job done. The old woman's still in the hallway. It's been weeks, but she's still there and she's still saying crazy things and Dean sweeps Alec up with one arm, carries him and steps over her in order to avoid another incident. Sam follows his lead with Ben, and Ben watches her over Sam's shoulder. She's looking in his general direction, but her eyes can't seem to focus and her muttered ravings are starting to get louder as they reach the stairwell, louder and louder, like a crescendo and Ben realizes she's going to explode right when she does.

"Bastards and deviants!" she screams and it hurts Ben's ears and she's getting to her feet. She doesn't even stumble, just rises on unyielding legs with an unexpected and kind of frightening grace.

Sam and Dean freeze. Ben wants to tell them to keep going. He doesn't understand why they're not, because she's walking towards them now with a raised hand that's so old and frail it looks rotting, and Sam and Dean aren't walking away, but turning towards her. Ben looks to Alec, who's wrapped rigidly around Dean. Not much scares Alec, but apparently old ladies make the cut. There was one at Manticore, Ben remembers. Not horrendously old, like this one, but old enough, a nurse who administered shots with a surprisingly sturdy hand.

"Can we go?" Ben hears his twin whisper earnestly. "M'don't like her. Dean, m'don't like her." Ben sees Alec's fingers twine in Dean's shirt, sees his brother take a breath and attempt to lose his earnest tone. "She's some scary shit, you know? We should go. Going is a good plan, I promise you."

"She's just a person, buddy." Dean's trying to be reassuring, but it's not really a reassuring statement. Ghosts aren't half as scary as old women who say cruel things and touch you with clinical detachment.

"Abomi_nations_. That's what they are." She's so close. Sam takes a step back. "Inferior and impure, and God shall smite them when He recovers His control." She's reaching out to touch Ben. Sam jerks away and sets Ben back on his feet, and then there are legs the size of trees and a broad back and Ben can't see the scary lady anymore. He can't see it when she starts to cry, but he hears it in her voice. "You took them away. It was you. You took them a...away from me and they'll be taken away from you. Your little bastards. They'll be ripped away from you like you ripped away mine from me."

"O-kay," Dean lets the word drag out as he shifts Alec. Alec might as well have claws, the way he's digging his fingers into Dean's shoulders. "I think she may have missed her ride to the laughing academy. Let's just-"

"You. You took them. They were still here and you made them - you left and she was gone, but her bastard was still here and then she just...she dropped away, down into the floor, soaked into it like her blood and she was gone and you did this. You did this and someone will do it to you. They'll take them away from you. Your bastards."

Sam and Dean are looking at each other and Dean's shrugging his eyebrows at Sam and Ben's pretty sure Sam's shrugging his eyebrows back and it hasn't hit them, yet, what's happening. Sometimes it takes them so long. Too long. She's crazy, but Ben understands crazy.

He tugs on one of Sam's belt loops. A comforting hand immediately comes to rest on the back of his neck and Sam looks down at him, assures him, "Don't worry, kiddo. We're leaving." Sam thinks Ben's terrified like Alec's terrified.

"She's the grandmother."

"Huh?"

"The grandmother. She's the grandmother. She killed them..."

Sam's mouth drops a little, and his eyes go up and to the side, and the gears are turning in his head, Ben can tell, trying to process this information. And the lady's looking at Ben and her eyes are everywhere, but then...then they start to focus. On Ben.

"They'll tear you apart," she says and tears are streaming down her face. She's not dried up, like she looks, not so dry and withered that she can't cry. "They'll slice into your mask, they'll cut out your eyes, because they know what you are. You're worthless and grotesque and alone. God never loved you." She comes forward with that rotting hand of hers and she's reaching for Ben, but Sam's reaching for his gun and then he's pointing it at her head and telling her to back the fuck off.

They get the hell out of there.

Dean ushers Ben into the back of the Impala, tucks Alec in beside him, detaches the hands refusing to let go of his shirt. Ben hears him murmur something, but its too quiet to comprehend and Alec relaxes a little and nods and lets Dean run a hand over his light hair one last time before shutting the door and getting into the driver's seat and sighing like he's exhausted.

"Dude...I can't even."

"Just find a pay phone, Dean. I'll call the police and inform them."

Dean starts driving. Ben sees his eyes flash in the rearview, trying to look back at them, and then Sam's turning around and telling them that some people are genuinely insane and nothing that woman said held any meaning, because she was one of these people.

"No shit, Samlock." Alec quips, though his voice isn't nearly as cheerful as it would ordinarily be while exercising a new pun.

Sam's quiet. He doesn't even look...bitchy, as Dean would say, and he's not scolding. He just looks like he's trying to figure something out.

"Was that a pun on Sherlock or Matlock?"

Alec shrugs. "Either, or." Then, eagerly, "What do'ya think? Is it a keeper?"

"No," Sam tells him. "It was totally lame."

"I thought it was_ genius_."

"_Dean_."

"Save it for special occasions, though, okay, kitten? It's not so awesome that it won't get tiring. I think girl jokes are still the way to go."

"_Dean_."

Dean reaches over and patronizingly pats his little brother on the head. "That's right, Sam. That's my name and it _never_ gets tiring."

"Dean, stop touching me. I will break your hand. I swear to God."

"I'll break your face."

"I'll break your..." Sam is quiet for too long.

"Lame."

"Shut up-"

"Lame. You are so freaking lame."

They go on and on. They're always doing that. Ben's not sure if it ever stops, because he stops listening to it. He leans his head against the window and it's cold against his face because it's cold outside and he closes his eyes and all he can see is that hand coming for him and all he can hear are those words. _They know what you are. _

_

* * *

_

It's ugly. It's the ugliest goddamn thing Alec's ever seen in his entire life. And he's not wearing it.

"It's the ugliest goddamn thing I've ever seen in my entire life," he informs Sam. "And I'm not wearing it."

He's not. Not ever. The Salvation Army sucks ass. It doesn't even have light-up sneakers.

Sam's giving him that look, that infuriating you'll-do-what-I-tell-you look that Alec can't help but feel a fond sort of disdain for. Dean's turning away in order to laugh. Ben's nodding in agreement.

"M'don't like it, either."

"Guys." Sam keeps dangling the pea-green monstrosity in front of them, like they're dogs and this is a delicious treat. But it's not delicious at all. It's terrible. "It's too cold for just hoodies. And you can't keep on wearing our spares. They're too big for you. This is filled with_ down_."

"It cinches at the waist," Ben points out. "And it's hideous. And there's _two_ of us."

"Amen," Alec chimes in.

Sam closes his eyes. Sam's always closing his eyes and tilting his head like he's trying to reign in his temper, even though he rarely displays any temper. Sam's always been pretty controlled around them. Maybe one of these days, Alec muses, they can do something to alleviate this travesty.

"We're gonna get two. But one of you has to wear this one."

"We don't like that one," Alec replies. "It's pouffy. Ben and I don't do pouffy."

"We don't do pouffy," Ben agrees.

"How 'bout this?" Dean interjects. He's got something in his hands, something brown and unassuming and not at all pouffy, something that looks strikingly similar to what Dean's wearing right now.

"That's good." They both reach for the garment with quick and grabby hands.

Alec's not at all sure how Sam gets there first, but the taller Winchester brother swipes that shit up before either of the transgenics can so much as blink an eye.

"This isn't warm enough."

"Our body temperature's higher than yours," Ben immediately counters, arm stretching up to take the jacket back. Sam lifts it higher, dangles it just out of their reach, the infuriating bastard.

"I don't care. It's not warm enough, and appearance matters. We can't have people think we're freezing you, can we?"

"But that other one's repugnant," Alec interjects. "S'ugly. S'not good at all. S'bad. S'gruesome. S'horrifying-"

"_Alec_." Sam closes his eyes and lets out a breath and opens his eyes again. "When did you two become fashion conscious?"

Alec shrugs. "I don't know. But I do know I still want some light-up sneakers." He does. He really does. Light-up sneakers are the shit. For real.

Dean snorts and snatches the jacket out of Sam's hand. Alec bites the inside of his cheek, but it does nothing to restrain his wide smile and Sam scowls in return. "We're at the Salvation Army, kitten. Light-up sneakers at the Salvation Army are a rare acquisition. "

"Could've snuck out of a Walmart with 'em. Easy as pie."

"Mmm...pie," Dean replies absently, and he kneels and pulls Alec forward, starts gently stuffing tiny arms into the jacket.

"What're you doin'?"

"Seein' if it fits over your hoodie. Maybe Sam won't throw a bitchfit if we can layer you."

Sam huffs, but the jacket fits over the hoodie. Ben bites his lip and looks down and shuffles his feet for a moment and Alec feels kind of bad until Sam assures him they'll be taking turns with who wears what and the kid brightens, which is good, but then Alec feels a kind of dread. 'Cause that means he's gonna have to wear the ugly one sometimes.

"Can't we find a better one?" he asks. "So Ben and I don't have to suffer the humiliation of wearing that...thing?"

"No," Sam replies instantly. "You'll wear what we can give you." Then he pauses and gets that pensive look on his face that hardly ever amounts to anything good. He bites his lip for a moment and turns to Dean before asking, "Dude, d'ya think we've spoiled the kids?"

Alec is confused about how a child can spoil, barring cancer or any other disease that tends to eat away at the body, or how Sam and Dean might bring on said spoilage. He looks to Ben, who is also visibly confused and shrugging.

"They're not spoiled. They just don't wanna look like geeks or douches."

"They should be happy for a coat. Any coat."

"Three words, Sammy. Calvin Klein underpants."

That shuts Sam up. Dean peels the jacket off of Alec and throws it at his tall little brother before leading them all to checkout. Alec and Ben follow them, stifling their giggles because they might not understand the concept of spoiling children, but they totally understand the concept of Sam wearing designer underwear.

Alec hops on Dean's back before they walk out the door and the man staggers a little, and then exaggerates his stagger, and makes jokes about Alec being too heavy. Alec hopes its a joke, anyway. He doesn't want to be too heavy to ride on Dean's back, not ever. And he's never going to admit this and he's gonna try his best not to look disappointed when it finally happens, but it's the stone cold fucking truth. Sam and Dean make it kind of okay to be small.

They walked. The motel's several blocks away, but they didn't want to waste gas, and it's about a block down the sidewalk, a block away from the thrift store, when he sees her. She sees him, too, and she smiles with her mouth, but Alec can't see her eyes because they're hidden behind those glasses which are just as dark in the daytime as they are at night.

He doesn't realize how tight his fingers have gone until Dean stops and asks him if he's okay. It's taken a long time for him to hear the inquiry, Alec's pretty sure, because Dean sounds really earnest by the time Alec catches the words and the man crouches a little, slides Alec off of his back, puts two steadying hands onto trembling shoulders.

Trembling. Alec's shaking. Alec doesn't know when that started happening.

"Alec? What's going on?"

She's still there, still smiling, but Dean's got his back turned to her now and so does Sam and she's getting up and waving her hand and turning and...Ben sees her. Ben sees her, too, and he's looking from her now retreating back to Alec with wide eyes. Her hair is long, but pinned up, and Alec's eyesight is excellent. Really, really excellent. Better than Sam's, or Dean's, or anyone who wasn't engineered by a government facility. His eyesight's excellent, like Ben's, and they both see it when she walks in that graceful and feminine fashion, hips rocking, collar of her coat inching up and down with each step, exposing the branded skin, the barcode.

"Alec? Alec, what?" Dean's looking back. She's far enough away now that she wouldn't be relevant to his eyes. "What happened. What are you-?"

"They're here," Alec cuts him off. "Manticore. They sent..." She's too old. She's gotta be almost as old as Sam. How is she so old? "Something." An early prototype? Didn't they...

"They eliminated those," Ben mumbles. He's numb. Alec knows he's numb because Alec's numb. "They eliminated them, didn't they? Is she...what is she..."

Alec and Ben are off the ground and they're traveling as fast as adult legs can discretely carry them. They've gotta go back to the motel, their stuff is there, the car is there, but they're getting the hell out of here. They're only staying as long as it takes to throw their shit in a bag and then they're getting the hell out of town. Sam and Dean are mumbling these promises and not expecting responses, which Alec is glad for because he doesn't think he can form a sentence right now, he's so fucking...

Jesus fuck.

The motel parking lot is abandoned except for the Impala and the large van with the blacked out windows and there's so many of them and they have guns and there are people dressed as police, but they're not police, Alec knows. There's too much coherence in their eyes. They know this situation.

"I see you found my kids."

Alec's stomach drops at the voice and the tone and he squeezes Dean with his legs and arms as hard as he can without breaking the guy.

"Who in the holy fuck are you?" If Alec didn't know him so well, didn't know the own blood in his veins, he wouldn't think Dean was scared. Dean is visceral and harsh and barely restraining his rage, but Alec can feel it, can smell it. There are guns. There are lots of guns and lots of people, and some of them are decked out in costumed authority and Dean...Dean smells like fear.

"My name is Colonel Donald Lydecker. And like I just said, you found my kids."

Alec leans in, leans so close to the hunter's ear his lips are almost brushing the cartilage when he says, "M'gonna go with them. Dean, m'gonna...you have to go. They'll kill you. They'll kill you and Sam. Me and Ben'll go with 'em."

Dean's arms are almost crushing him, they're so tight.

Alec swallows. "Dean...Dean...you gotta. They'll...I won't let them. You have to."

"_No_." The growl is fierce and unrelenting and so is Dean's embrace, but Alec's strong. Alec can take Dean down now just as easily as he could the day he met him.

"M'sorry. M'so sorry. I...you're so awesome. You're awesome and m'not gonna let them, Dean. M'not gonna let them hurt you. You have to let me-"

Hands. Hands coming from everywhere. Ben's kicking. Ben's fighting. Alec can hear him. Alec can hear Sam and Sam's threats of bodily harm and he's never heard the guy sound so crude before. Sam's tough shit, Alec realizes. Sam's some of the toughest and coolest shit ever 'cause he's talking about slicing people open and leaving them on the concrete to bleed out and die unless they get their fucking hands off Ben right the fuck now. And Ben's fighting. And they're stunning him.

And Alec's fighting.

And they're stunning Alec.

And it hurts. And the van they're thrown into is cold and without any of the comforts of the Impala. This is a van for hauling prisoners and the only thing that's the same about this, that's the same as the way Alec and Ben have been traveling for the past few months is that Sam and Dean are here, too, thrown alongside the children they've been trying so hard to protect, groaning in pain from blows dealt without sympathy like a couple of castoff soldiers.


	17. Soldiers & Dogs

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Seventeen - Soldiers & Dogs_

_

* * *

_

It's cold when Dean comes to, and he's aware of his face and how it's pressed against concrete flooring, which doesn't make him feel any warmer. And its quiet and so is the little boy voice that's calling to him from somewhere close by.

"Dean? Dean, are you awake now?"

Dean grunts in response. His head's killing him, but he trucks on, laying flat palms against the floor and shoving himself upwards into a sitting position. And, oh. It's a cell. Why does it always have to be a freaking _cell_? Sam's on the floor beside him, unconscious but breathing. Dean grasps a ridiculously broad shoulder, shakes it a little, but Sam doesn't come to. There's a small cut on his little brother's forehead. Blood trickles from it.

"Dean?" the voice calls again. "_Dean_?" The voice is small and earnest and frightened.

"M'here," he replies. "M'awake." And he twists around and it aches and he groans, but it doesn't take much to see them – the cells are side by side, and the boys are right there, two pairs of little hands gripping those bars, those bastard bars keeping them from Dean, so tightly that the teeny knuckles are bone white. They're trying so hard, Dean can tell, but their faces are so young and tense and their hair's been buzzed off. Their clothes, Sam and Dean's childhood clothes, are gone, replaced by dreary camouflage jumpsuits. "Those fucking sons of bitches."

"We're okay," Ben tries to tell him, but it's a lie. Ben never lies, but he'll lie about this and Dean can see it. It's transparent. His kid's a bad liar. And Alec's not talking. Alec's gone mute and there's a tremor to those otherwise steady fists gripping those damn metal bars. Kid's terrified of being caged. It's like that time, with the panic room, except Dean can't reach through metal and pick him up and take him the fuck out of there. Dean is made of flesh and bone, Dean is not-at-all-impervious and he can't promptly remedy this situation like he did then. And he hates himself for that.

He swallows. "S'gonna be okay," he says, and he doesn't know if it's true. He might be lying, but one of Alec's hands loosens. The kid's reaching through the bars. Dean stumbles to his feet, edges forward, takes the hand. The grip that greets him is surprisingly strong. Dean didn't think he could be surprised anymore. He says, "M'here." Alec's hand tightens, tightens so much Dean feels like his bones are about to be crushed, but he doesn't tell the boy to let go.

Ben puts a steadying hand on his brother's shoulder, murmurs something too quiet for Dean's ears and the grip loosens, soft skin drifting away from his palm. Alec blinks up at him, says in a voice little more than a whisper, "M'sorry."

"You got nothin' to be sorry for."

"Uncle Sammy…"

Dean turns back to his supine sibling. Sam hasn't stirred, but he's still breathing. Of course he is. Sam wouldn't dare not breathe, the little bitch. Dean wouldn't allow it.

"He'll come to, kitten. He's just taking a while."

"Our hair's gone. Our hair was awesome."

"It's gonna grow back, sweetheart. I promise you."

"They won't let it. They'll never let it grow back." Alec backs away from the bars, backs away from Dean and Ben and the stagnant Sam. "They put us in here for holding until they can start reindoctrination. They put you in there for holding until they find a good way to terminate you."

"Don't talk like that, Alec," Ben says through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry that the truth hurts." Alec's eyes are blazing with hurt and anger when he refocuses them on Dean. "Why didn't you leave us there? I _told _you to leave us there. I told you to go. Why didn't you fucking go?" The kid's back at the bars in a flash, tiny body banging against them. Serious and somber moments are moments for eye contact. Dean insists on it. Has been insisting on it since that day Sam found teeth in the pocket of a child's pants, and Alec's looking him in the eye now. His voice is quiet and unwavering when he admits, "I hate you. I hate you for not going." And then he turns away again.

Dean is flesh and bone and more than capable of being torn open and shredded to high hell by a little boy's words. Dean is scraps on the floor.

"He doesn't mean that." Ben's reaching a hand through the bars now and Dean's taking it in his own numb hand. "Daddy, he doesn't mean that."

Daddy. The childish moniker slips out of Benny at random times now, times when they're not in public, times that might be considered inappropriate if Dean didn't secretly believe that it is perfectly appropriate at all times.

He kneels down and kisses his boy's palm, promises, "M'gonna get us out of this. I don't care if I have to gank every living sonuvabitch in this place." And Ben looks at him like he believes him, like he believes that Dean can do anything. Dean used to look at John like that, and he's not sure if this thought induces confidence or excruciating pain, but he does know that for all his negligence and obsessive asshattery, his father would have gotten him out of this situation. John Winchester would've ripped the throat out of any fucker who got in his way, and if it came to pass, he would have died for his sons in a heartbeat. Dean has that same blood running through his veins. "I'm not letting this happen to you again."

"We're locked in here." Alec. There's a cot pressed against the back wall of each cell and Alec's on one, knees up to his chin, arms around his knees. "There's an armed guard at the end of the hallway. There are two at every door. They shoot first and ask later. They'll kill you without sparing a thought. They'll kill us, too, if they have to."

Alec sounds like a dead boy. There's no hope in that voice, no cheek, no sardonic glee. Just a single, sad note that's as grey and uniform as the walls and the floors surrounding them. Dean's reminded of Alec's words to Ben, that day that felt like centuries ago. _We left there because they didn't treat us like people._ Caged animals. That's what they are. That's what Alec and Ben have always been. This is the place where liberty comes to die.

There's a sound, down the hallway, the sound of a heavy door opening and then creaking closed. There's gotta be three…no, four pairs of feet coming down the hall towards them. Ben's hand snatches out again, grips the sleeve of Dean's jacket. There's four of them and they line up in front of the cells. Three of them have guns. One of them's that ridiculous little bastard who claimed Dean's kids were his own.

"M'gonna kill you," Dean informs him. "Just so you know."

The guy, Lydecker, smiles. _Smiles_.

"Just because they look like you doesn't make them yours." If it weren't for the armed guards, if it weren't for the fact that Ben's attached to him and Alec's only a few feet away, and that Sam is still helpless on the ground, Dean would have this douchebag by the collar of his jacket, would be bashing his smug fucking face repeatedly into the metal. But Dean can't do that, and Lydecker continues in a cold voice, "Anything they're about to go through you can blame yourself for. You've undone years of hard work." His eyes move from Dean to Ben and they harden in disgust. "Look at the way he's _clinging_ to you." And the fucker raises his voice, barks the order, "Stand back, 493."

Ben doesn't. He shakes his head and he doesn't. He _won't_. The little rebel. Dean's so proud.

"He's not a freaking number. He's a kid. He's a person."

"He's a _soldier_." Rage. Man's got control issues. It doesn't take much to figure that out. "Soldiers are like dogs. You train them and give them treats sometimes when they perform correctly. If you make the mistake of treating them like they're humans, they'll lose their natural instincts. And then what good are they?"

"Don't equate my kids to dogs, you fucking dick."

"They're not your kids."

"They come from me. They have my blood and my face. They're _mine_." Dean's vibrating. Dean's angry, so fucking angry.

"And we _made_ them. They were created for a purpose. They aren't meant for aimless drives across the country, Dean Winchester. They aren't meant for credit card fraud, murder, bank robberies, or fake deaths. They have a higher purpose than your inherent criminality." Dean's eyes must be wide because Lydecker's face breaks into a small, cruel smile. "Oh, yes, Dean. Files are always recoverable. There's always something written somewhere. We know all about you and your father and your brother…and your poor mother. Burned alive, didn't she?"

Dean doesn't even know, can't even begin to comprehend what this asshole's getting at, but he has the feeling that was some kind of off color "yo mama" joke and Dean just doesn't have any kind of tolerance for that shit. Lydecker cuts him off before he can reply, though, turning to the men with guns and commanding, "Round them up." He waves his hands lazily at the cell containing Alec and Ben and a strangled noise comes from the latter.

"Leave them alone," Dean's voice is low and dangerous, but it's just a voice and voices do very little. He's in this cage and he can't do anything and those fuckers are pointing guns at his clones, his amazing little clones who like to eat ice cream and spew out things so smart they can make even Sam's head spin. His clones who look at him with eyes that make him feel worthwhile. "Leave them the fuck alone." Ben's gripping that sleeve and Dean's got a big hand wrapped around the tiny wrist and he never wants to let it go, not ever, and one of the fucking gunmen's grabbing his boy and Ben's snarling and pulling out of Dean's grip. He's swinging around and kicking and Dean hears something break, something that must be significant because the bastard's on the ground and swearing like a motherfucker, pointing that gun at Ben and one of the others has his gun on Ben, too. Two guns on Ben and the remaining guard's got his barrel wedged between Alec's small shoulder blades.

"We _will_ terminate you, 493. You are expendable." Lydecker says this shit like a housewife reminding her child to wash behind his ears and Dean hears the terrible sound of guns being cocked.

"Benny…" Ben gets it. Ben's emotionally astute and he gets it just by the sound of his name coming out of Dean's mouth, he gets it like Sam would get it.

"M'don't want to." Two tears streak down the side of the kid's face.

Dean reaches a hand in, trails a finger down the stream, whispers, "I know. I know, but m'gonna get us out of here."

"Don't want them to hurt you. And Sam…Uncle Sam's not awake…"

"He's gonna wake up, Ben. I promise. I don't want them shootin' you, baby, please…"

Ben nods and it's less than a second before he's jerked away, herded out of the cell and into the hall, and Alec's being nudged forward with that barrel in his back, but he pauses in the center of the cell, turns around and glares at the persistent guard with the same kind of apathetic heat he reserves for scoldings about his language.

"Hold your horses, cowboy," the kid says. "I need a minute." And he breaks away, is at the bars in a flash, but with a lack of that earlier ire. He reaches in and grabs Dean's sleeve just like his brother had, gives it a harsh tug so Dean comes down to his height. Serious and somber moments require eye contact, and Alec's looking Dean in the eye. "I didn't mean it," he says, and his voice is rough from trying to hold back that child inside of him. "Don't…don't let them hurt you. Please. I just don't want you to go away. I couldn't. M'sorry…m'love you. Don't let them…"

"S'okay, kitten. S'gonna be alright. We're amazing, right?"

Alec sucks in a breath. "We're Batman."

"We're Batman," Dean agrees and he lowers his voice, and hesitates because he doesn't say this. Not to anyone. Not ever. "I love you, too, you little smartass. Stay strong. We're gonna get out of here and we're never lookin' back."

Alec nods and breathes and collects himself before retracting his fingers from Dean's sleeve. He turns around and waves a tiny, dismissive hand at the gun still trained on him.

"S'okay," he tells the guard. "I'll go willingly. Well, it's not that I'm really consenting or anything, I mean clearly you're dragging me and this entire thing is really disgustingly forceful on your part. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I won't raise a fuss and snap one of your bones like Ben did to that other guy. Real firecracker, that kid."

Alec turns his head, winks at Dean and smirks and it takes effort, but Dean returns the gestures. They lead him away. That kid. That fucking kid. Dean's kid.

* * *

Sam's head fucking hurts. He awakes to find it pillowed on his brother's thighs, jerks in surprise when he realizes that Dean's got one warm hand resting on his mop of hair. It's a fucking weird way to wake up and Sam can't help but feel like he's six again.

"You finally awake there, Mechagodzilla?"

Sam groans. Dean's hand doesn't move and Sam doesn't verbally acknowledge that it's there. Something's happened. Something horrible has happened. He doesn't acknowledge that, either. "Mechagodzilla? Seriously, Dean?"

"He's Godzilla's mechanical doppelganger. Don't complain."

Dean doesn't talk for several minutes after that and Sam doesn't move because he knows Dean doesn't want him to. The room's heavy with the unspoken conversation and Sam finally cracks, "Where are they?"

"They took 'em." Sam barely hears the words, Dean's so quiet. "Alec said something about reindoctrination. M'tryin' to come up with a plan, but I can't." Dean sounds so defeated and Sam can't help the lurch in his stomach, the mental voice rushing through his brain, teasing him, telling him that this is it. This is finally it. They're going to lose everything and it's going to hurt worse than he's ever imagined. And it's not going to be demons, or ghosts, or destiny that finally does them in – it's going to be the government.

The motherfucking government.

"They were so fucking scared, Sam."

They weren't the only ones. Dean was and is so fucking scared. Sam can hear it in his brother's voice, but he doesn't point this out.

"They were so scared and m'gonna kick so many freaking asses as soon as we get out of this cage."

And there's the cover-up, the brave machismo front Dean couldn't exist without. Sam lifts his head from his brother's lap, sits up and winces because it does hurt. Really fucking bad. Dean's hand is still up like Sam's head is still there and it takes the guy a moment to realize this. The hand slowly descends to rest on a now-empty thigh.

"The bastards shaved their heads and took away their clothes, put them in these little military getups."

Sam swallows. He can't process it. He can't process that the boys aren't here, that the boys are most likely being tortured and brainwashed. He doesn't want to. He doesn't want to think about these things. These things can't happen.

"They need them…right? They won't…"

"I don't know. He…that Lydecker dick, called Benny expendable."

Expendable. That's not a word you use when you're talking about an innocent kid. That's not a word you use when you talk about Benny.

"Motherfucker," Sam grunts.

"Yeah," Dean agrees.

And they fall silent. Dean's thinking of a plan. Sam's trying to think of a plan, but his head hurts and he resists the urge to tip back down, to put his head back in his brother's lap like he's six, because he's not six. Sam's a man now and he has kids in peril, kids that are his, his and Dean's, and he needs to alleviate this situation.

A door opens. Dean jumps a little, scrambles to his feet, presses himself against the bars. It's that guy, that Lydecker, and there's a beefy guy with a gun following him.

"Dude, stop it," Dean tells him. "You're not Whitney and you never will be." Everyone looks confused. Even Sam's confused, and Dean heaves a weary sigh. "You're constantly flanked by bodyguards."

"He's not my bodyguard."

"Whatever. Where the hell are my clones?"

Now Lydecker sighs and Dean's gritting his teeth and his muscles are clenching and Sam wants to tell him not to try anything because there's a gun, and these people apparently lack hesitation.

"They're exactly where they should be. Where they always should have been." Holy Jesus, the guy's voice is cold. Sam's not sure if it's just the nausea from the big fucking pain in his head, but he feels a chill in his bones at the sound of it. "I've only come to inform you that someone will bring you your dinner and that you're set to be here a week."

"A week," Sam deadpans, trying to look past his brother's clenching form so he can see this guy. "Why?"

"We're going to use you for training and our schedule is tight and filled with other things. We're using you in a week."

"For…training?" Dean's confused. Sam's confused. This is way worse than the Whitney Houston joke.

"You're going to be the fox. They're going to be the hound."

"We're going to be hunted?" Dean clarifies. "I mean, with that analogy, there could be an epic Disney friendship afoot, but you guys don't really seem to go for the sweet shit."

Lydecker ignores the snark. "Give the man a prize. I knew we chose you for a reason, Dean. You're not just another pretty face. Yes, you're going to be hunted. By tiny children with extraordinary strength. You love them so much, it should be fun. You should consider it in an honor, training them for future achievements." He doesn't wait for a response, just walks away with his bodyguard at his heels.

Dean bangs a foot against the bars and makes a sound like an enraged bull. "Mother_fucker_."

"Yeah," Sam agrees. "I'm so sick of people hunting us."

Dean goes quiet. Sam's starting to drift off when his brother speaks up again, "How long d'ya think reindoctrination takes?"

"Months. A year."

"Not a week?"

Sam shuts his eyes at the implication. "No…" he says, and he tries to sound like he means it, like he knows for a fact they won't do that, won't somehow force the boys into it. "Not a week."


	18. Fathers & Mothers

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Eighteen - Fathers & Mothers_

_

* * *

_Alec misses the motel rooms, the smell of dust and mold and the feel of the grimy carpet beneath his feet. He misses the broken toilets, the showers that never got hot, and the TV sets, the sound of the static, and how there was only one channel you could barely see or hear, but it was there, and it made the silence go away when no one was talking. He misses the flat mattress covered in sheets that hadn't been washed since who-knows-when, and how his space on that mattress was so small sometimes he could barely breathe on it because his face was usually squashed into a broad back, or an arm was heavy over his side, and sometimes it would get too hot because there were too many bodies on only one bed. He misses the feeling of sleep, because it happened eventually, because he learned to shut his eyes and his mind and just be, and he wouldn't even realize it until he was waking up to Dean's hand on the small of his back, or Sam's hair tickling the side of his face, or Ben's leg twined with Alec's own.

He misses the Impala and how she gleamed and the look on Dean's face every time he saw her, even though he saw her every day. Dean looked at Alec that way, too, and Ben, and even Sam, sometimes. They would climb inside of her and she was big and black and they were all there, fidgeting in their traveling home, bored and without privacy, but safe. And moving. And rarely stopping.

Alec misses the way she moved, because now he can't move anymore. He tries to move his arms, but the restraints are tight and competent and he hates them because they're assholes. The biggest fucking assholes.

"These restraints are the biggest fucking assholes," he informs the nurse, who doesn't respond, who doesn't even look at him, just sticks him with that hypodermic again. He doesn't know why. They've taken enough blood. "How much do you _need_?" he sighs. "M'not the Atlantic Ocean, you know."

He's not. Alec's seen the Atlantic Ocean and it was huge and it smelled like salt. The world was blue and white and yellow that day, and when Alec closes his eyes he can still see it and hear it and it's so clear, he almost tricks himself into believing he can smell it and taste it.

Photographic memories are the hot shit. Except when they make you feel like you've lost everything.

"Where's my brother?" he demands. It's not the first time. It's not even the fiftieth. He's asked so many times and no one ever answers him, they just look past him like this woman's doing right now, look past him to whatever part of his skin they're touching, whatever organ they're monitoring and their fingers are so cold and stiff and uncaring.

Dean's fingers were always warm, even when they were cold. So were Sam's. They had warm fingers that didn't touch Alec this way.

"Where're Sam and Dean?"

Silence. Alec misses television. Alec misses anywhere but here. He misses his barn and the way he could sleep in the dirt and hay, and the cats who would hiss and scratch at him but would curl up beside him at night, the lameasses. If you're going to defend your territory, defend your territory. When you don't defend it, you're robbed of it, just like Alec was, and that's no good. Alec misses that barn. He wants to be in that barn right now, waiting for them to find him.

It's been three days. Three days of just Alec and nurses and drill sergeants, needles and orders, and spaces that get smaller and smaller and smaller until Alec finally cracks and says what they want.

They dose him with something before undoing the restraints, a lot of something, because it takes a lot of something to take Alec down. He's hauled off the cot and he can barely walk and the backless paper hospital gown isn't doing much to make him feel less violated. Someone grips him tight by the arm and leads him, someone who throws him into the smallest solitary cell, someone who tells him to remember that he's a soldier and not a sailor and speaking such words in the presence of Manticore staff will result in an even smaller cell for an extended period of time. This same someone throws in a set of clothes after him before the metal door bangs shut with a terrible finality.

Alec misses the naughty bed, and how it was only ever for forty-five minutes at the most and two minutes at the least and Sam was right there and Ben was right there, and sometimes Dean was right there, too, cleaning his gun or hiding his face behind a book or magazine, snorting periodically in amusement. Alec misses the way Sam took it so seriously, how he would get that this-hurt-me-more-than-it-hurt-you look on his face after it was all said and done before spreading his ridiculously long arms open.

Alec misses the free hugs. He misses the way he didn't even have to steal them.

* * *

The chair is high, high enough that Ben's feet don't touch the ground and he swings his legs, tilts his head up and smiles at Dean. Dean smiles back, his index stuck in his mouth, tongue licking off the remnants of the pink ice cream cone he just devoured.

"That ice cream was friggin' amazing. Wasn't it, Benny?"

Ben nods, even though he's pretty sure he didn't get to eat any ice cream. Dean seems to think he did, though, so that's good enough for Ben. "It was awesome," he agrees, beaming up beatifically at the cheerful hunter. Dean looks like he's going to extend a hand down to smooth over Ben's shorn head, or one of those other warm gestures he does sometimes, and Ben waits for it, but then Dean just settles for a fond smirk. Ben is slightly disappointed, but he ignores it and asks, "Dad, where're Sam and Alec?"

Sam and Alec aren't in this room. It's cold and sterile, and Ben's pretty sure they're in a hospital, though he wasn't aware that hospital rooms looked this way. There aren't any windows or soft shades of white and blue. There's no cot. Nothing but walls that are solid and reminiscent of steel, nothing but Ben and Dean and this chair.

Ben swings his legs. Dean frowns down at him.

"What did you call me?"

Ben's not sure. Ben doesn't remember, but it could be only one of two things, so he chances a guess. "Dean?"

"No."

"Dad?"

Dean nods. "That's the one." And he smiles, so Ben smiles back, because Dean clearly likes it when Ben calls him by this name. Ben's been practicing – he uses it about once a day in private, testing it out to see how Dean reacts, and Dean always gets this startled and slightly fearful look on his face before visibly relaxing and acting happier than he'd been for most of the day up until the point when "Dad" or "Daddy" slips out of Ben's mouth. This is how Ben knows he's doing something right. Until now, when Dean's jaw tenses and he casts a reproving glance down at the boy, says, "Don't do that."

Ben swallows and blinks and thinks he couldn't have heard that right. "Don't do what?"

"Don't call me that, Ben. You know better. You know better than to call me that, don't you?"

"I…m'sorry, Dean."

"You know better," Dean repeats, and there's no forgiveness in his green eyes and Ben swallows a little, grips the arms of the chair.

"M'sor-"

"You. Know. Better." Each word is an ominous growl. Dean doesn't want to hear Ben's apologies. Dean only wants to hear one thing.

"Yes, sir."

And Dean's smiling again, and again he looks like he wants to put that hand on Ben's head in a display of paternal affection, but he doesn't. Instead, he takes a few steps away and says, "Good boy" in a tone that is somehow both sincere and apathetic. Dean's looking at Ben like he's never looked at him before, like Ben's something to be corrected, a stained wall that needs to be either scrubbed clean or painted over.

Ben feels his eyes prick and he tries to swipe at them, but he can't move his hands from the arms of the chair. They're stuck there, strapped down by unrelenting restraints.

"Da…Dean, please…"

The smile he gets in return is like a quick stamp of approval on a project that's been slaved over for years, careless and unconcerned, but wanting to convey that hard work doesn't go unnoticed. And Dean tilts his head and speaks words he's spoken before, words spoken in moments of comfort, moments when Dean had arms around Ben, around Alec, and Sam was there, Sam was reading, and Ben was crying, but it was okay, then. Everybody was there and everybody was safe, and the room was small and cramped and there was only one bed, but it was warm. Everybody was so warm. "You're okay, Benny," Dean tells him.

"I don't-"

"You are. You're okay. You're fine." And Dean's there suddenly, right in front of Ben, leaning down in a slow and graceful way that's somewhat intimidating and Ben doesn't really understand how he got there so fast. Ben didn't see him walk there. "I need you to remember something for me, okay?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"I need you to remember something about fathers. I need you to remember that I'm not yours."

Ben can't move his hands. The tears are free-flowing, slim rivers down small cheeks, dribbling down his chin, falling and dampening his uniform grey tee, and Dean doesn't reach out a hand to wipe them away, he just stays there, level with Ben, staring him down.

"Stop crying, Ben."

Ben can't stop crying. Dean is unimpressed.

"Stop. Crying."

Ben tries. Ben bites down on his lip and he tries. He tries so hard his lip bleeds.

"That's good. That's good, Ben. You have to remember that soldiers don't cry. Can you remember that for me?"

Ben can't take his teeth out of his lip, so he just nods. Dean beams with approval.

"Good. Now, back to fathers." Dean's not eye-level with Ben anymore. Dean's about five feet away, pacing, hands behind his back, eyes staring upwards in contemplation about this lecture he's going to give. Ben doesn't know how he got there. Ben didn't see him move. "Fathers are the people who raise us from seed. Fathers are the people from whom we learn to hone our instincts, to use them appropriately. Fathers teach us the art of strategy, teach us how to achieve our goals. Most importantly, fathers teach us how to love our mothers. Who's your mother, Ben?"

Ben doesn't have a mother. He had a Sam, once, back when he had a Dean. Now he knows nothing of mothers because Dean isn't his father. And now he knows nothing of fathers, either.

"Who is your mother, Ben?"

Ben doesn't have a mother.

"Ben, who's your mother?"

Dean keeps asking. Dean's never going to stop asking and eventually, something tickles the back of Ben's brain and he takes his teeth out of his lip and answers, "The United States government is my mother, sir."

Dean stops pacing and he smiles and he nods and he calls Ben a good boy again, because that was the right answer, because this time, Ben got it right.

Ben got it right, but he doesn't feel good about it. Ben feels cold and empty and barren like a bleak field in the winter. He stayed in a field like that once, after the escape. The clouds were grey, like these walls, and the grass frosted over, like Ben's skin, chill rising up from icicle bones to sweep into, up through, and over. It feels like everything is dead.

"I…Dean, m'want Sam. Please? Where's Sam?" Hope. A last hope. Sam. Sam said Ben was his, his and Dean's, and that last part was a lie, apparently, but maybe…maybe Ben is still Sam's.

"I'm right here, Ben." And Ben jumps because Sam is right there. Right behind the chair, large hands gripping the chair's back, tall frame towering over the top of Ben's head. Ben tilts his head back, blinks up at the man.

"S-Sam?"

"It's me. Are you being good for Dean? Are you being a good soldier?" And Sam's not behind him anymore. Sam's in front of him. Sam's next to Dean, who's smirking, and their shoulders are touching in a familiar display of camaraderie.

"I…y-yes, sir."

"Good. I'm glad." Sam crosses his arms and squints skeptically at Ben. "And are you going to remember everything he told you?"

Ben doesn't want to remember. He doesn't want to remember any of it, but he answers, "Yes, sir." He watches them, watches them exchange a look and a smile and when they return their eyes to Ben, they actually seem proud. Ben puts this affirmation to use. "Where's Alec?" Ben wants Alec. Sam and Dean…they're not…they don't want to be, but Alec? Alec will always be Ben's.

"He's off learning his lessons, kiddo," Dean answers amiably. "Just like you."

"I…I don't want to be here, Dean. Can't we not be here anymore?"

"No." Sam. Sam's voice is firm and deep and teeming with severe disappointment. "Ben, you know better than that, don't you?"

"I-"

"I know you do. You know better than that. You know who your mother is and who your father isn't. What's right is staying where you belong, and you belong with your mother, don't you? Who's your mother, Ben?"

"I…S-Sam-"

"Who's your mother, Ben?" Sam's voice is as cold as Ben's entire being. The sound drops the room to below freezing. It's entirely possible that Ben will end up sticking to this chair like ice to a telephone pole. It's entirely possible that his skin will rip off when he tries to move.

"The United States government, sir."

Sam approves. He nods and he smiles and he knocks into Dean's side, tells Dean that he always knew Ben was a smart boy, and then he reaches out a hand. He reaches out a hand to touch Ben and his hand isn't like it normally is. It's not Sam's big, healthy, calloused hand that smoothed over Ben's hair back when Ben had hair. No, this hand is…this hand is old. And rotting. And reaching for Ben.

Sam doesn't say it. Dean doesn't say it. But Ben hears it. _They know what you are._

The hand doesn't touch him. It disappears right before a half-decayed finger brushes his freckled nose, but Sam is still there and Dean is still there and they're still looking at him. They're still blinking at him, wordless, but deafeningly present. They know what Ben is. Ben knows what Ben is, too. Ben is whatever Sam and Dean think him to be. Ben is worthless, grotesque, fatherless, defective, and alone.

* * *

Alec doesn't like where they're taking him. He doesn't like that room, that solid room with that chair where he sees things he doesn't want to see, hears things he doesn't want to hear, where he comes to feeling chilled and thirsty and afraid of the light. He hates that room. He hates how every single time, he wakes up or snaps out of it or what-the-fuck-ever, completely uncertain of what just happened and wondering if it was a dream or if it was real. He hates how it's getting harder and harder separating time spent in that room from time spent out of it, separating lies from truths, and present from past.

"I don't-"

"Were you told to speak, 494?"

Alec shuts the fuck up, because Alec wasn't told to speak. Alec does what he's told. Alec does what he has to do in order to survive and he's surviving, but he doesn't want to go into that fucking room. Not again. He hates that room, hates how Sam and Dean are there sometimes, hates how they look at him like they hate him, talk to him like they hate him, and he knows its not true. Knows it can't be true. It can't be true because its only been five days. Six days. Seven days? Alec's not sure. Alec doesn't know for sure, but its only been days since Dean took his hand through the bars and said they were gonna get out of this.

Dean said and Dean doesn't lie. He said that word, too, that word that's totally a girl word or a Sam word, but Dean said it and he said it to Alec. And he meant it.

Alec thinks he meant it, anyway. Alec's pretty sure. Sometimes.

They're almost there, almost to the room, and the guard's nudging Alec through a hallway of the medical wing and Alec tries to keep his eyes forward, but they stray. They always stray. Alec's lack of attention has always been something of a problem, and this time they stray to the side, to an observational room where a shackled Sam is sitting on a cot, having his head checked by a nurse.

Sam is shackled. Sam is real. Alec's banging on the glass.

"494!" The guard's bellowing, but he doesn't go for his gun, which is a mistake because Alec wrestles away from him, kicks him, kicks his legs out from under him and knocks his head against the wall before the other guards stampede through the hallway like an ornery pack of wildebeest. Alec doesn't run. Alec stays because Sam's in there, Sam's in that room, and he's wrenching his head out of the nurse's hands and he's looking at Alec with wide, desperate eyes, is scrambling off the cot only to be bombarded by two guards and Sam's trying so hard, is straining with effort trying to get away from them, and his eyes haven't left Alec's eyes, and there are guards getting a hold of Alec now, pulling him off the glass, and Alec strains, too, and he croaks out a weak, "Uncle Sam" because his voice hasn't been right for days now, but he still tries. And Sam sees it, and he tries harder, is so desperate, but he can't. They've got him pinned. They've got Sam pinned and Sam looks so fucking frantic but he can't move anymore and Alec can't move anymore and then the glass shatters.

And everything goes quiet and still.

The people in the observational room are looking at Sam with fear in their eyes, and there are guns trained on every part of Sam's body. There's fear in Sam's eyes, too, hidden under his explicit need to get to Alec.

"Alec."

The glass is gone, scattered in itty bitty bits on the floor, and Alec can hear Sam now, but he can't respond because he's being shoved and pulled away by various pairs of rough hands.

One of the guards mutters something about Winchesters and their special fucking blood, and another one tells him to shut his mouth. Alec wonders about it for a moment. He'd wonder about it more, but they're putting him in this room again.

Alec hates this fucking room.


	19. Lollypop

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Nineteen - Lollypop_

_

* * *

_

They shove him roughly back into the cell where Dean's hands are waiting to catch him. The grip is almost bruising Sam's forearms, it's so tight, and Dean yanks him close, starts checking him over with discriminating eyes, running over Sam's face and neck and arms with hands that are seemingly trying to be gentle, but aren't at all. Sam doesn't pull away. Dean's freaking the fuck out, and he can't be gentle, and he's angry as fuck and hollering curses and threats of bodily harm at the guard's retreating back.

"Dude, m'fine." It's a lie. Sam's not fine. Sam's got a secret that's totally not fine at all.

"Did they hurt you?"

"I'm. _Fine_." Sam's not derisive, just firm, and Dean lets out an agitated breath before releasing him. Sam doesn't move for a while, just watches as Dean turns his back, stalks over to the bars separating them from the next cell, clutching them in tight fists, and resting his head against the metal. Guy's been doing that since the day Sam woke up in this fucking hellhole. It's like his default position and for the first few days, Sam tried to pry him away but yesterday…yesterday, he got a fist to the jaw for his trouble. "Dean? I saw Alec."

Sam watches as his brother's spine goes rigid, watches the steady grip waver as Dean's hands tremble for less than a second. And then the question comes in a voice that is low and quiet and verging on hopeful. "How'd he look?" Sam takes too long searching for a way to answer the question delicately. The reiteration comes out in the form of snarl. "How did he_ look_, Sam?"

"He was intact. He looked…a little pale, I guess. He was scared, but he recognized me. He wanted to get to me, but they dragged him away."

Dean's quiet for a while, breathing, trying to unwind himself just a little bit. Sam retreats to the lone cot on the back wall of the cell, edges down so he's half laying on it, long legs trailing to the concrete floor. He closes his eyes and thinks maybe he'll sleep when Dean asks, "What did they want you for? What did they do to you?"

"Nothing. They checked me over, made sure I was in adequate health. I think they want to keep us spry for the hunt."

"'Course they do," Dean mutters. "Did they give you a lollypop afterwards? I could really go for a lollypop right now."

Sam ignores the snark and Dean falls quiet again. An hour passes, maybe two hours, Sam's not sure, and he doesn't realize that he's been worrying away at his bottom lip with his teeth until Dean's there, standing in front of him, flicking the side of his head, and grunting, "Sam, fucking out with it already."

"Huh?"

"You've made your freakin' lip bleed." The pad of Dean's thumb passes over the minor wound. Sam bats his brother's hand away. They're in this place again, this place where Dean's the big kid and Sam's the little kid who needs constant looking after. Sam hates this place.

"Dean, _stop-_"

"What's eating you?"

Sam's a freak. That's what's eating him. Sam's an utter and complete freak, and he thought it had gone away, thought it was gone forever. It hasn't shown up in nearly two years and what the fuck it's doing showing up now, _here _of all places, in a _government facility_, Sam has no clue.

"_Sam_." Fingers. Dean's fingers are snapping in front of Sam's face, calling him to attention, like Dad's fingers used to. There's a part of Sam that kind of wishes his dad were here right now, a part of him that has been hollowed out and is now painful and blatant in its emptiness. "You're gonna look at me and tell me what's wrong, you got me?"

Sam smacks the fingers away, glares up at his brother. "Save it for Alec and Ben, Dean. You're not Dad."

Dean closes his eyes. Sam's not sure if its frustration or the mention of Alec and Ben, but his brother closes his eyes, swallows and collects himself before replying, "You're my kid brother. Nothing changes that. You're my kid brother and you tell me when shit's fucked up."

"Shit's not fucked up."

Dean snorts in disbelief. "Dude, don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying to you."

"You went to _Stanford_-"

"What the hell does that have to do with _anything_, Dean?"

"You went to Stanford and we're in this situation. This is the most fucked up situation we've ever been in and you just claimed that shit's not fucked up."

"Shit's not fucked up otherwise."

Dean kicks him in the calf just hard enough for it to sting. Sam yelps. Dean's expression is caught between amusement and triumph for a moment, and then it goes serious. "You can't keep shit from me, Sam. Not now. We've gotta be in sync if we're gonna get out of this one…if we're gonna get Alec and Ben out of this one."

Sam really hates it when Dean's right. He hates it almost as much as he hates Dean's eating habits and he hates Dean's eating habits a hell of a lot. Or he doesn't hate them at all. Maybe he just finds them mildly irritating sometimes and amusing other times, and maybe he doesn't really hate Dean being right. Maybe he finds it mildly irritating sometimes, and utterly relieving other times. Right now it's mildly irritating, though. There's no doubt about that.

"Sammy, please." Sam's been quiet for too long. Dean's voice is low and rough and this time, it's not because Sam's being a douchey little brother. This time there's no frustration or demand in the tone, just longing and desperation. "They're…we need to do everything we can to get them out of here. M'not…I won't leave them here. M'not gonna let them rot here. I promised 'em. I…you need to help me. Please. Please, Sam."

And Dean's turning away, turning his back on Sam, moving back to those bars it's so hard to tear him away from. And Sam gets it, he knows…he didn't ask, but he knows that cell is the last place his brother saw them, Alec and Ben, the last place he touched them, smelled them, heard them. Dean doesn't cling to much or many, but when he does…and Sam remembers in the car, in the car after they got Alec out of the hospital, after Alec told them everything. Sam remembers the way Dean looked at Alec like Alec was his, like Alec had always been his. Sam remembers how Dean looked at Alec the same way he looked at Sam, the same way he came to look at Ben.

Dean's. They will always be Dean's. Sam will always be Dean's.

"It happened again." Sam leaves it there, waits for Dean to prompt him, but Dean doesn't speak. Silence. Dean leaves his silence to push Sam forward. "It…I broke some glass. Half a wall of glass. I didn't touch it. I didn't have to. Alec…he was out there looking in at me, wanting to get to me and I…I needed to get to him, Dean. I couldn't just…he needed me, and they dragged me back and they dragged him back. And then I broke the glass. It…I didn't do it on purpose. It just…it happened."

The quiet comes after that. Sam was expecting it. He knew. He knows his brother, knows how when hard shit comes up he'll bite his tongue to keep from snapping, but the quiet and the still is enough for Sam to lose his footing, really, and his stomach drops another mile with every moment and his brother's head doesn't leave its resting place against those bars. "Dean? Please-"

"S'okay, Sammy. We'll work it out."

"I don't know what it means."

"Doesn't matter, okay? Maybe it doesn't have to mean anything. Shit like that's important, though. You shouldn't be afraid to-"

"I don't like the way you look at me sometimes."

Sam hears Dean swear under his breath. His brother hates this shit, hates having to console or reassure Sam about something Dean himself has done wrong.

"I promise you I won't look at you that way."

"Really," Sam deadpans, because Dean's got impulse control issues. Dean can't help himself sometimes, with the way he looks at Sam. He reigns himself in for Ben and Alec because they're tiny and damaged, but with Sam…Sam's always been there.

"I promise you I'll try my best not to look at you that way." Dean rises then, moves back over to the cot, commands, "Move over, Samantha," and Sam does despite the hated nickname. Dean slouches down beside him, turns towards him. Their knees touch. "You can't control this thing, can you?"

Sam shakes his head. "It's only the second time. The first time-"

"I know. I was there."

Dean was there. Dean was the reason. Dean is alive today because Sam's mind can do freaky fucking things.

"I guess we can't put it to use, then." Dean's saying it more to himself than to Sam, and he's got his thumb up to his mouth and he's biting the tip of the nail off.

"We'll get out of here, Dean. We'll get Alec and Ben out of here."

"Yeah."

"We will."

"I know."

Dean tries to sound like he means it. He tries so hard. It's not often that it hits Sam this hard, how hard his brother tries.

* * *

Sam's a heavy little bastard. He is, and Dean will always think him little when the guy's sleeping against him this way, shaggy head tilted onto Dean's shoulder, half of his weight pressed into Dean's left side, drool precariously tipping from his bottom lip. Dean cringes when it drops, when it hits and darkens his T-shirt with its disgusting wetness, but he doesn't shove Sam away.

"The things I do for you," he grumbles, resisting the urge to brush brown bangs away from his brother's closed eyes. The kid's twenty-six. He's not twelve anymore, and Dean needs to remember this sometimes. Dean's still in charge, will always be in charge, but he needs to remember this sometimes.

Sam moans and turns in his sleep, tosses his arm over Dean's belly. Dean closes his eyes and hopes to God the kid's not dreaming about a woman right now. He still doesn't push his brother away, though. He wouldn't ever say it out loud, but he needs this, he needs Sam's huge, stupid body pressing into him right now, needs to know that Sam is here, that Sam's not out there being tortured in God knows how many heinous ways. He needs to know that Sam's perspective is still intact, that he still sees Dean for what Dean is, still sees that Dean needs him like he needs lungs.

Sam, right here and right now, with his slimy ass drool and big, stupid fucking weight is what's holding Dean together, keeping him collected despite the two gigantic holes that were shot right through him six days ago.

Dean shuts his eyes and clenches his fists, counts himself back into a functioning state. When he opens his eyes, he brushes the hair away from Sam's stupid face and tries not to think about six days ago, when little boy hands reached through bars, reached for Dean, needing Dean as much as Dean needed them. He tries not to think about how soft the skin was, or how green eyes looked up at him like he was a superhero, because Dean's not a superhero. If Dean were a superhero he'd be out of this fucking cell by now, he'd have his brother and his kids out of this prison, would be far away, buying them ice cream and telling them inappropriate, but hilarious stories as they fell asleep. If Dean were a superhero, he'd fall asleep, too, and he'd wake up to tiny, limp limbs slung over his body, or maybe mischievous green eyes, or a child's voice cracking an inappropriate, but hilarious joke in order to make Dean, himself, laugh. Or maybe he'd wake up to Benny calling him that name, or Alec calling him that name, and it would be terrifying, but terrifyingly awesome.

These thoughts must have lulled Dean into some kind of stupor because he's completely taken by surprise when the cell door slides open with a loud clang and he jumps. Sam jumps, too, shaking his head and blinking the sleep out of his eyes, and upon seeing the three guards and their three guns standing in the threshold of the cell, clutches Dean's shirt in an enormous hand.

"What do you ass clowns want?" Dean slouches back against the wall, tries to make himself look as relaxed and apathetic as possible. Dean Winchester doesn't straighten for motherfuckers with guns.

"You're coming with us," one of them replies, looking straight at Dean. "Just you. We've had enough of him for one day."

Sam's grip on Dean's shirt tightens. Dean smirks and pats him on the head. "You're old news, Sammy. I'm the new hot piece of ass in town." To the guards, he asks, "Dinner and a movie first, I hope. M'pretty high maintenance."

Their stony faces twitch at the implication and one of them, a younger one, one that had to be around the same age as Sam, maybe a little younger, starts stuttering, "We don't…th-that's not-" The other two shut him up with a look and maybe it's his age, or maybe it's the fact that in this moment he looks scared, looks like he has no idea what he's doing or why he's here, but Dean takes pity on the younger guard.

"S'okay, kid. I know. You couldn't even if you wanted to. Now shut up and lets get this over with."

It's the younger guard who swallows and moves forward, shackles Dean's ankles and wrists together while the other two steadily aim their weaponry on both Winchesters. Dean nudges Sam gently with his shoulder and Sam lets him go.

"We're bringing 'im back," the young one says, his voice timid, but reassuring, and Sam's eyes widen in surprise and Dean's eyes widen in surprise and one of the older guards tells the kid to shut his mouth.

Dean's led out of the cell. They lead him all over the place, tell him to keep his eyes forward, but Dean's eyes stray. They would stray anyway, but today it's deliberate, because Sam saw Alec, Sam saw one of the boys while he was out here and maybe Dean will see one of them, too, see for himself that they're still whole and that they still remember Dean's face for what it is.

He gets butted in the back with a barrel of a gun, but it's not even hard enough to hurt. Dean's getting the feeling that the guards aren't allowed to hurt them unless it's absolutely necessary, and he doesn't really like the idea of this. Not at all.

They push him into a medical room, stare at him until he hops up onto the exam table, swings his legs and looks around like a curious child. There's a rectangular hole in the wall where Dean's pretty sure just earlier that day, there used to be glass. Oh, Sam. Sam, Sam, Sammy.

"I get a lollypop when we're through here, right?"

The guards ignore him. One of their pockets buzzes with a static voice telling them to get their asses to someplace that isn't here, and another guard chains Dean to the table and then they leave him there. The young one looks back at him for just a moment, and he's so quick about it, Dean almost doesn't catch it.

He's in the room for what seems like an hour, but is probably only fifteen minutes, and there's no doctor or nurse or what have you, just Dean and he's looking at the walls which are as cold and grey as the cells and the machines and the tubes coming out of the machines. And when he looks at the exam tables, he remembers Alec and Alec's story, how Alec told them everything and it was horrifying, the things they must have done to Alec, to Ben, on these tables.

"It's not that interesting."

Dean's head jerks around. She's sneaky, this girl, to get so far without him seeing her, but she's here now, in front of him, jumping onto the table directly across from Dean's. Early to mid-twenties, long dark hair, no dark glasses, but she's not dressed like a guard. She must be the one. Dean never saw her, but Sam did, once, and the description fits.

"You." His voice is hard. He'll kill her, he will. This is her fault, she's the one that tracked them, found them, led the bastards straight to them. She's the one that put this into the works.

"Me," she replies. She doesn't say it like he expected her to. There's no smugness or hostility, just a statement of fact. His glare is unwavering, though, for at least five minutes before she finally sighs and glares back and says, "Don't look at me like that. I was just following orders." She bends down and rolls up the leg of her pants. There's a wound running down the lower part of her leg, a wound that looks like it's been left unattended for a good long while, and it's long and jagged and gaping.

Despite himself, Dean asks, "What did that to you?"

"Knife," she grunts. "I don't heal fast. Not like the little ones do."

"Who…what happened?"

"Practice. I'm practice. It's what I'm good for. Practice and tracking. I'm an exceptional tracker." She sounds proud. Really proud. Dean still wants to kill her, but instead he asks her what she's practice for. She looks at him, a little viciously, and replies. "You. I'm practice for you. You and your brother. You're the main events." Dean's eyes widen, but he doesn't respond. He doesn't really know how to respond to that and he's not really in the mood to bait her, so he just looks at her and she continues talking. "They killed the rest of them, the ones like me. I came out alright, though. They can still use me for some things. I track and I help with the training, I'm practice. I'm not supposed to talk, though. I'm not supposed to talk this much." Worry. She looks worried. "Don't tell them I talked this much. Please? I'm not supposed to talk. I'm only supposed to smile and wave, because there's something intimidating about smiling and waving. They told me."

This place is fucked up, so unbelievably fucked up. Dean hates this girl, hates her for what she's done to that shape of a thing that was forming into a family, hates her for her part in taking it away from him, but this place is fucked up. This place is so fucked up, he can't not tell her, "I won't tell anyone you talked this much." But that's not strategically sound so he cocks his head and looks at a vague point in the distance and backtracks, "I won't tell anyone you talked this much if you tell me how my boys are."

"Your…boys." She sounds so confused.

"Alec and Ben."

"Oh. 494 and 493, respectively?"

"No. Alec and Ben. They have names. Tell me how they are."

"I don't know. I haven't seen them."

And Dean can tell that she's not lying, that she doesn't really know how to lie. Dean understands why they don't let her talk.

"Tell me what they're doing to them."

She shakes her head and looks at him like she doesn't quite understand what he is, exactly, like she's never heard anyone ask these questions before and can't possibly understand why they would want to.

"They're seeing things that aren't there," she says. "Sometimes they make us do that so we'll act how they want us to act."

"What are they seeing?"

"I don't know." She doesn't know and she's still looking at Dean in that way that indicates she doesn't understand him, but something about her is softening, she's gnawing on her lip and looking at him like she's aiming to please. Her eyes shift around like she's making sure nobody's in hearing distance, and then she straightens. "I do know something, though."

This place is so fucked up, Dean can't even begin to comprehend how fucked up it is. He asks, "Yeah? What's that?"

"I know they know about your brother."

Shit. Fuck. Shit. Dean's stomach is at the bottom of his feet. His hands are shaking a little and he clenches them into fists, wills them to stop.

She continues, "They've known about him for a long time. I read his file while nobody was looking. I heard they might not terminate him if the little soldiers can't kill him. If they do kill him, they'll probably use his body, though. I hear he's strong and can do funny things with his mind."

She shuts up after that because there's a nurse coming in, and then another, and the three guards are back with their guns to make sure Dean doesn't try anything sneaky during his exam. The exam is clinical and cold and there's no lollypop afterwards. No lollypop and no optimism left in Dean, no little voice attempting to tell him this is going to go at all well.


	20. Seeing

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Twenty - Seeing_

_

* * *

_

"Are you ready?"

Donald Lydecker's eyes are blue and they're locked on Ben's eyes and this contact should probably be cringe-inducing, what with the man's grizzled hands on Ben's knees, the way the colonel is kneeling in front of him in a display of pseudo-paternal support, but Ben doesn't cringe because he doesn't feel disgusted. Ben doesn't feel anything at all.

He doesn't even feel ready, but he says, "Yes, sir. I'm ready."

"And do you know what task it is you're ready for?"

"To hunt and eliminate the prisoners, sir." Ben drones the answer, and Lydecker's eyes flicker for half a second, but then the man nods.

"That's correct, 493. Can you tell me who the prisoners are?"

Ben feels something now - something nudging in his chest, something collecting in his throat, something poking inside his head in ways that are extremely sad, but he closes his eyes and counts himself back into functioning before opening them again, and they're cold and hard and green when they settle back on Lydecker's blue, and Ben says, "The prisoners are Sam and Dean Winchester. They're the men who aided a fellow soldier and myself after our traitorous act of escape." Lydecker nods, but he's still looking at Ben, still expecting more and Ben knows what he expects because conforming is never enough here, in this place, in this solitary cell, with this man. He adds, "I was a bad soldier who did a bad thing and I still have much to atone for."

Something resembling a smile passes over Lydecker's face and he pats one of Ben's knees. Ben's feeling stuff again. He's feeling disgust and he wants to cringe and jerk away, but he fights it.

"It's time," the man tells him, and Ben's stomach flutters at the words. "You enjoyed this last time. You came back with a look of exhilaration and fulfillment on your face. I expect to see that again today."

"Yes, sir."

"I have a present for you."

Ben's not interested, but he watches as Lydecker reaches behind his back, takes in the expression of pride and inexplicable fondness that crosses the man's face as he sets the large, sheathed knife across Ben's knees.

"Only you," the man says as Ben fingers the black leather sheath. "Today, you're not only being reinstated as a member of a unit, but I'm giving you a temporary promotion to commanding officer. Today, I expect you to end at least some of the suffering you have caused all of us. By using this." Lydecker reaches forward and grasps Ben's knees again, squeezes them with too-tight fingers. "I don't think I have to say that things will be bad for you if you fail."

Ben tries not to feel again. It's better when he doesn't feel. He tries to make sure his voice is quiet, but steady when he replies, "No, sir. You don't have to tell me that." Bad. Things will be bad for Ben because there's no such place as a Good Place. There's no such thing as a Bad Place, really, either. There's just Place. This Place. This Place where things are always bad, but it's not the Bad Place, it's just what is, and Ben needs to believe only the things he can see, because the things he sees are the things that are real.

And right now he sees Lydecker. He sees the knife in his lap. He sees what has been carefully explained to him, the things he's going to have to do.

"494 won't be joining you."

Ben won't be seeing Alec. He bites his tongue to keep from asking why.

Lydecker continues, "You have done so much better than your cohort thus far, 493. Your progress in such a short span of time has been exceptional. I only hope to see you improve from here on out."

"Yes, sir." It's what he's supposed to say. Ben says what he's supposed to say because this is here and here is now and it's what his present situation requires. He's plucking the knife from his lap and acquiescing to a military man's orders for him to get up and follow.

Ben follows Lydecker as they collect the other X5's, the tiny soldiers who line up, who stand straight, who shout "yes, sir!" back when its explained that Ben is to be regarded as the leader in this operation, that Ben is the one who has the knife (which is to be _used_) and the power to end the hunt. They shout the words. They "yes, sir!" but their eyes are falling on Ben and screaming "traitor." Ben doesn't care too much. He doesn't need them. He's already lost everything he needed.

They follow Lydecker outside to the field in front of the woods and it's all very familiar, this scene. It was maybe a year ago the last time Ben was here, maybe a little less, but it's not the 'nomlie who's standing in front of them this time, but Sam and Dean.

They're wearing standard government issue sweats, grey like Ben's, like the others'. Their eyes are quick to lock on him, but Ben doesn't look them in the eyes. Ben can't look them in the eyes, can't see that cold disappointment and lack of want, not again. He can't. If he sees it, that means its there.

One of them starts to say something, but there are guards with guns, two older guards, and whichever one it was - Ben thinks it might have been Sam but he doesn't want to think about it too much - gets butted in the ribs for his trouble. Prisoners don't get to talk.

They get a gun and a knife. Ben hears Lydecker hand them the weapons, hears the speech, "If you make it to the perimeter, you're free men."

And then he hears Dean snort in a most bitter kind of amusement. "Dude, you're not going to let us go even if we do manage to escape the little rugrats." Then he hears the grunt of pain as Dean, too, gets butted in the ribs with the blunt end of a rifle.

Lydecker repeats himself like someone repeating the rules of a fun and harmless game._ If you make it to the perimeter, you're free men._ This time Dean keeps his mouth shut. Dean is silent, but Ben can feel him, can feel his eyes boring into and burning Ben's skin. It's unbearable, he just wants them to go. He just wants Sam and Dean to go, to be sent off, and then they are.

And this is real. Ben can't believe how real this is.

"They have a five minute head start," Lydecker announces. "In five minutes, this will be your hunt."

Ben closes his eyes and counts.

* * *

It's been seven days. It's been seven days and today's the day and Alec knows this because he got a visit earlier, a visit from Lydecker, who was unhappy and speaking in his "You've-disappointed-me-greatly-494" voice and Alec fucking hates that fuck so much he could break every bone in his body, smash the bastard's eyeballs in with the pads of Alec's tiny thumbs. No joke. Right here, right now, with this rage? Alec would do these things. And then he'd laugh.

And then he'd get the fuck out of here and go. He'd get Sam and Dean, who would totally still be…who are, who _are_ totally still alive and kicking, and he'd get Ben who would still be whole, who would still be Alec's brother, and they'd go, the four of them, they'd get the fuck out of here and run for god knows how long, but they'd run until they were away, until all this was gone.

They're out there. Alec's pretty sure they're out there already. The hunt's already started. And Alec would throw himself at the door right now, would claw at the walls, but he's chained to this cot. Lydecker came in to announce his disappointment and then he shackled Alec's wrists and ankles and chained him to this cot, told him if he had to eliminate, to hold it.

_Control, 494. You need to learn control._

Alec doesn't need to learn control. Alec does what he does because it's how he survives. He steals and he swears and he rebels and he _stays alive_. Except right now he's not surviving at all. Right now he's here, and his Sam and his Dean and maybe his Ben are out there being ripped to shreds by tiny, desensitized killing machines. So Alec's being ripped to shreds, too, with every passing second, and he's been trying for a while now, maybe fifteen minutes, to gnaw at the cuffs with his teeth, but it's not giving fast enough.

He feels like he's getting somewhere just when the cell door starts to creak open and Alec flinches and jumps up only to teeter back down onto the cot because he'll fall face flat if he tries to get any farther. It's a guard, a fresh-faced guard who's looking really nervous and he's slow and quiet about entering and he closes the door, but not completely.

"The fuck do you want?"

The guard puts his finger up to his mouth to silence Alec, and this isn't a very comforting gesture. Alec's stomach drops because he's chained and there's a man he doesn't know trying to silence him and Sam gave him a really awkward talk once, one of the talks about wandering off, about people who might tell him to be quiet when he really shouldn't because strangers are danger. Alec, had of course, snorted, because very few people actually pose a threat to someone of an X5's genetic makeup, but now he can't move and even if he screams, nobody will help him.

The guard's holding up a tiny key, though, and he's moving towards Alec like he would a very dangerous animal, with slow steps and caution. Guy's got the right idea. Alec is totally a dangerous animal, and even when the guard does him this inexplicable favor of kneeling down and undoing the shackles around his ankles, and then around his wrists, Alec lashes out and knocks him to the ground, kicks him in the ribs once for extra measure, and heads for the slightly-open door.

"_Wait_." The pained rasp is urgent enough to cause Alec to stop and look back. The guy on the floor's reaching for his holster and pulling out his gun, but he doesn't point it at Alec. He flips it around, holds it by the barrel, offers it.

Alec is perplexed. This doesn't compute. At all.

"Please…please, take it."

Alec doesn't trust this. He doesn't trust this at all, but it's a gun and he could use a gun. He walks towards the fallen guard in the same manner that the guy walked towards him only moments ago, snatches the gun out of the willing hand and narrows his eyes. He's half-tempted to aim it at the guy's head, but he doesn't. He asks, "Why are you doing this?"

"I…you should go. They already started. You should go."

The guy's not explaining. It could be a trap. Or another lesson, another mindfuck. Alec doesn't need another mindfuck. He steps on the guy's hand just lightly enough so that it doesn't crush under his weight, repeats, "Why are you _doing_ this?"

The guard's eyes tear in pain, his face tenses. His face is young. Alec noticed it before, but he notices it even more now with the tears and the mouth twisting in a way that Alec's mouth has twisted before, that Ben's mouth has twisted before, that even Sam's mouth has twisted when something painful hits hard, like a bad memory. It's been only months and Alec knows the word that comes with a mouth that twists this way. _Dean._

Only this guy doesn't have a Dean. Only Alec and Ben and Sam have a Dean so he must have something else, and Alec vaguely recalls something mildly demeaning he heard on television once. _Cry for mommy_.

"Why?" Alec repeats, and this time his voice is a little less severe, and he lets his foot up.

The guy looks up at Alec with great effort and his eyes are filled with water and they're red where they should be white. He says, "You're all so _small_."

And Alec still doesn't understand. He still doesn't know about this guy or why he's doing this, but he does know that that's probably one of the closest things to humanity he's heard out of a member of Manticore staff.

"You need to get out of here," Alec tells him. "Unless you can lie really, really well, you need to get up and get out of here. They'll kill you, you understand? I'd help you, but I can't…I have to-"

"I know."

He sounds like he knows and Alec nods and leans down for a moment, runs a tiny hand over the guard's hair, because that's what Dean and Sam do when Alec and Ben have their moments of terror and pain. "Thank you," he says quietly.

And then he's out of there, evading surveillance cameras as he goes, but he's out of there like a good soldier should be: with a mission and a gun in his hand.

* * *

"Five minutes," Dean grumbles. "Five minutes, are you kidding me?"

They ran for two of those five minutes and now they're covering their tracks, trying to create a diversion, trying to get those kids to run somewhere where there are no Winchesters to find.

"Ben wouldn't look at us," Sam mumbles.

"Shut up," Dean tells him. Dean doesn't need to think about that right now. Dean doesn't need to think about how Ben wouldn't look at him because it doesn't mean anything. Ben's still Dean's, whether the kid looks at him or not. Whether the kid likes it or not.

At least Sam's not pointing out that other thing right now, that thing in which Alec wasn't there. Alec's still inside somewhere, and they're going to have to go back in and get him and any plan Dean might have had is now bunk anyway, even if he had no plan to begin with. Fuck this place. Fuck this place so hard.

"Dean." They have one minute left. Dean can hear that one minute in his brother's voice, the panic of the seconds ticking away. "Dean, man, they're not gonna fall for this."

They're not. Alec and Ben wouldn't. These kids won't, either. Dean's well aware of this fact.

"Shoot the gun," he says. Sam's got the gun. Dean's got the knife.

Sam stares at him like he's insane. Dean gets that. Dean is kind of insane sometimes. "Dean, you want to draw them right to us?"

"Yes. Shoot the fuckin' gun, Sammy."

"We're giving up?"

"We're not giving up. We're doin' what we can."

They are, they're doing what they can, which is to give up with the hope of lucking out. The gun will draw the kids right to them, and the kids will attack. The kids will tear them to shreds.

"They'll tear us to shreds," Sam says. "They'll tear us to shreds and we won't fight back."

They won't. It's fact that Sam and Dean won't fight back because these kids…these kids are Alec and Ben. Every single last one of them with the same destroyed childhood and Dean won't lay a hand on them. He won't, not even in his own defense.

"I know."

"Dean, if we're dead, we can't get them out of here. We can't get Alec and Ben out of here if we're dead. We can't give up."

The minute's up and they'll be coming soon anyway, and Sam and Dean will be helpless. At least bringing them here will give the Winchesters some semblance of control. "Ben's hunting with the pack and Alec's inside. We're not taking one and leaving the other. We draw Ben to us and we…I don't fucking know. We're not giving up, though. We're doing what we can. Now shoot the _motherfucking gun_."

Sam shoots a bullet into the sky.

It's not long, maybe a minute, before they hear the crunching of dead leaves, hear the small feet bringing the small troops closer and closer. The crunching turns into a rustle as they approach, and the kids don't show themselves, not immediately. They're lions, they're crouching, they're getting ready to pounce.

Dean spots a girl, tiny and silent, almost hidden behind the trunk of a large tree, and she's signaling to someone on their other side. So they're surrounded. The little bastards circled and surrounded them, like vultures.

Dean calls. "C'mon out, you little whippersnappers."

"Whippersnappers?" Sam hisses. "Seriously, Dean?"

Dean would tell his brother to shut up, but they're coming out now, so many of them are coming out now that he's not even going to try to count them, and their eyes are cold and they don't look at all amused or like they're going to be amused even if Dean tries really hard.

"Alright, dudes, I think we should just talk this through, don't you?" They're not agreeing, and they're stony-faced and predatory. Dean raises his eyebrows and holds up a pair of surrendering hands, tries again. "We could, uh...hug it out?"

They don't want to hug it out. They keep edging forward and Dean scans the faces, the shorn heads, until he spots his boy. His Benny, who's finally looking at him with a face like all these other little faces, tense with anticipation, but Dean thinks maybe he can see something there, something softening in the boy's cheeks or his eyes right before the hunting knife is snatched out of Dean's back pocket.

"Aw, c'_mon_-"

He twists around to see which one did it, but this is a mistake. His feet are kicked out from under him and he hits the ground, turns his head in just enough time to see Sam hit, too, and then they're on top of them, piles of children with hands that might as well be claws and this is it and he's failed and he should have known that the word "luck" would never really be in the Winchester vocabulary.

"Stop!" The voice is so clear and firm and demanding of respect that Dean almost doesn't recognize it. Benny. Benny's barking orders like any good Winchester should. John's voice is in there somewhere. Dean's voice, too. "Back up!"

The kids back up. Dean and Sam kick up leaves as they scramble to their feet and Ben's glaring at the other kids until they do the right thing and get behind him.

Something's swelling inside of Dean, something indescribably amazing. It feels like sunlight swooping into his blood and rushing straight to every nerve. It's about to come flooding out of his pores, he just knows it and he really just wants it to stay in there, wants it solidified inside of him - and his boy, Dean's boy, is standing there, looking between Dean and Sam, unaware of this feeling Dean's experiencing, this feeling of utter and explicit need to reach out and grab what's his.

"Benny." Dean sounds like a man in need of water asking for water. He takes a step forward and then goes still.

Ben's holding out a really fucking big knife with the sharp end aimed at Dean, and his eyes are hard and cold.

"Ben?" Sam sounds like he did when he was ten, when Dad would come home with a bad temper and booze on his breath and nothing to show for two weeks apart but an order for his children to get their asses into bed. "Benny, please…"

"No," Ben replies.

Dean shouldn't be surprised anymore. He swallows his shock, licks his lips. "No what, Ben?"

"Just…no."

The knife is being held steady and it's being held right, and Dean knows he can't get it away from the kid without having his ass kicked and then stabbed. "Benny, kiddo-"

"Saying my name doesn't make this any less real."

It doesn't. The kid's right. Nothing makes this any less real. For any of them. Dean says, "I can see that."

There's a flicker of something that's neither cold nor hard in the kid's eyes, and Ben opens his mouth to respond but then there's the crunching of dead leaves again and all the little soldiers noticeably straighten, their eyes snapping to every possible point of entrance. They tense like they're getting ready to spring, and the footsteps don't slow, they don't rustle, they just keep crunching away until they come into sight.

Alec. Oh, God, it's _Alec_.

Alec's here and he's not in there and if Dean just takes a few steps he can touch him. Alec's holding a gun, skidding to a stop, taking in the sight of Ben holding that knife of which Dean is still on the receiving end. His little brain is working fast, Dean can see it. He's been seeing it for months, this kid with his quick thinking and sharp wit.

Alec turns on one heel to face the others. "You guys are supposed to go back to base. Ben and I are supposed to take care of the prisoners." Dean hears tiny snorts, mumblings from the other kids and Alec heaves a tremendous sigh and waves the gun around. "Hello? Do you see that I've been issued a firearm? Higher-ups, guys. This is serious business. Get your asses back to base before you get in trouble."

They shuffle a little bit where they stand, but the words "in trouble" really seem to resonate with these kids. Dean watches in amazement as one boy finally seems to break under the thought of this impending doom, watches as he's brave enough to be the first to leave, watches as the others follow. Dean wants to tell them to stop, wants to get them the fuck out of here, too, but he can't do that. Alec and Ben and Sam are his priorities and he can't do that.

Alec waits until they're gone, waits until they're more than likely out of hearing distance and then he launches himself at Dean. There's still a knife in Ben's hand but Dean crouches down, welcomes the spindly but strong arms around his neck and the legs around his waist. Dean's arms are tight around the kid, but Alec's arms are tighter, and Dean can feel the dead weight of the gun against his spine, absently gripped in Alec's hand, but he doesn't notice it all too much. He buries his face into the kid's neck and breathes in the odors of days in solitary, that musty smell of confinement grouped with the underlying scent of little boy.

They don't say anything and the embrace probably lasts too long given their current situation, but Dean doesn't give a fuck and Alec obviously doesn't give a fuck, either.

"We have to go," the kid murmurs, his own face nuzzled into the crook of Dean's neck. "We don't have any time." Dean doesn't want to put him down. Dean hasn't felt this warm in a week.

Alec lets go first and hurls himself at Sam, who catches the boy in expert arms, like he's prepared himself for this moment for days. Dean turns back to his little knife-wielder, hears Alec's little voice mumbling behind him, repeating that they have to go and go now. Ben's face is a picture of confusion, but that knife is still steady in his hand.

"Benny, it's over."

"It's never over."

It isn't, Dean knows it isn't. It's not over until they get themselves the fuck out of here, _if_ they get themselves out of here, and even then…there's not time, though, for thoughts like these. Dean says, "Put down the knife and come here."

"No."

Dean's getting really sick of this 'no' bullshit. They don't have the time, and if the kid does this for much longer, Dean's going to have to risk getting stabbed. And he should probably be more soothing, should probably be speaking in that gentle, lilting tone he's always taking with Ben, but he's not. The question's practically an admonishment coming out of his mouth, rough and terse. "Why? Tell me why you're saying no."

Ben flinches at the tone, but Dean sees the hardness and confusion melt away at the question. Sadness. Dean only sees sadness in those green eyes. Deep and heavy and aching. "You don't want me."

Dean lets loose an incredulous snort, ignores the knife, steps towards the boy. "Fuck that noise, kid. 'Course I want you. You're more awesome than rock music and classic cars."

Ben takes a step back. "You _said_ you didn't."

Dean's eyebrows jump upwards. He never said that. He would never say that, not in his entire life, not even if someone offered him a trillion dollars and his own private monster-less island. But the kid had to hear it somewhere. Dean knows the kid had to hear it somewhere because Benny's been doing real well recently, with the not making shit up and believing it and…oh. Oh, shit.

_They're seeing things that aren't there._

"I never said that. You tell me when I said that and I'll take the knife outta your hand and freakin' stick myself with it."

"It wasn't them, Ben," Alec says, and Dean turns just enough to see that the kid's back on the ground now, though he's still clinging to Sam's side. Sam's looking ashen-faced, but alert, his eyes skirting around the trees. "I thought it was, too, sometimes, but it wasn't. They wouldn't…you can't really believe they would."

"We wouldn't," Dean agrees, bringing his full attention back to Ben. "I haven't seen you in seven days, kid. Nothing between us has changed in seven days. I still want you. I'll always want you."

The boy's caving. Dean sees it, sees the eyes tear a little, and the tiny lip tremble. What comes out of Ben's mouth next isn't so much defiance as an explanation. "I saw you. You said to believe the things you see."

"I know, baby. I should have added that government mindfucks don't make the cut."

The words hit home, Dean can tell. Ben's gonna drop the knife and run into his arms and then Dean'll have both his boys back and he can be whole again. He steps forward and Ben doesn't step back and fuck it, he's just going to swoop the kid up himself, but then Ben's arm extends back and then flings forward and the knife leaves the kid's grip, flies blade-first through the air.

A scream. Dean whirls around and there's a man screaming, a man who has the handle of the knife sticking out of his arm, a man whose gun is falling to the ground. Sam and Alec have guns pointed at him, wide eyes looking between the guy and Ben, and Dean's absently murmuring, "That's my boy."

Ben's reaching forward and grabbing Dean's hand because time's run out, and they really do have to go now.


	21. Hedgehog

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Twenty-One - Hedgehog_

_

* * *

_

Sam doesn't remember the last time he ran like this. Winchesters aren't usually ones for fleeing, but now Sam's feet are pounding hard against the grass and he's going as fast as he can, as fast as Dean can, and the boys are just a few feet ahead, restraining themselves, going slow so as not to lose them.

He doesn't know why - it's not the time or place - but Sam remembers his dad as he brushes sweaty tresses away from his face with a quick hand, as he feels his heart pounding in his chest, as his feet hit the earth over and over and over again, never stopping. He remembers the countless training sessions he tried to avoid, the hollering of orders to keep going, to not stop, because while fathers give their sons reprieves, life doesn't. He remembers the time he ran so fast and so hard that he had to stop and hurl, remembers how he choked and cried and how he hated doing that in front of John, who was still kind of a dick about it, but rubbed Sam's back with a hand that was both gruff and soothing, anyway. Sam remembers the way he jerked away from that hand, how he spat out the last bit of bile and snapped that he wasn't going to run anymore. No way.

_M'never running again. I'll just kill the goddamn fucking thing instead._

Of course, this declaration was met with a hard look and a "Watch your fucking mouth, Samuel," but then Sam heaved again, and John softened up a bit. His hand returned to Sam's back and he murmured reassuring nonsense until the dry heaves stopped, at which point he helped Sam to his feet, got him some water, and explained that sometimes you can't just "kill the goddamn fucking thing." Sometimes the "goddamn fucking thing" is too big to be killed. Sometimes-

_Sometimes you just gotta run, kiddo._

This is one of those times. So Sam's running. And Dean's running. Alec and Ben are running. Shots start ringing out from behind them and Dean picks up his speed, reaches out two arms and snatches the boys by the back of their sweatshirts, pulls them behind a large tree. Sam follows, stands to one side of the trunk while Dean stands to the other, sandwiching the small boys between their bodies and the bark. A bullet hits a tree not ten feet in front of them and Sam reaches back with the gun in his hand and shoots blindly in retaliation.

He hears Dean's rough voice demanding, "Alec, gun."

"But-"

"Kitten, no time. Hand it over."

"_Fine_."

It's absurd, but the kid sounds like he's pouting and Sam actually has to resist the urge to chuckle at the sullen tone. They're still royally fucked. Three more bullets hit that same tree, blow the bark right off, and they could be shot any minute now from any given angle, but Alec…Alec sounds like someone just took away his ice cream. Sam shoots again, eases up in just enough time to hear the muttered, "I expect it back, though."

Dean snorts and cocks the gun, mutters back the much-hated "We'll see" before shooting until he hits. The pained cry is loud enough for them to hear, despite their ears ringing from the recent discharge of firearms, and some dead leaves that had managed to keep their place throughout the earlier weeks of fall drop and float to the ground.

And then they're running again. Sam's still not sure why. All sense is telling him that once they get there, once they get to the fence, there will be no way in hell of getting over it. There'll be more bodies with more guns waiting for them there. Maybe the kids, too, looking pale in the sun, eyes hard and cold and not-to-be-deterred from their present assignment. Dean shaded it over with wisecracks, as usual, but Sam was chilled by the sight of them, the way they were quiet and serious and ready to kill. And they were alive. They weren't ghosts. Sam gets ghosts, even the little ones, and these kids are just like them, left in this place to be molded into something essentially inhuman, something lacking in empathy and mercy, something that wouldn't give two shits about gutting you and leaving the grass dripping red and you cold and still on the ground.

"We're almost there," Ben says. "Almost."

They're almost there and the fence is coming into view, and so is the military jeep and the ten to twelve men with guns. The kids are spread out, along the fence, and Sam's not entirely sure, but he's got the feeling their glares are aimed at Alec and Alec alone. There's a guard on his knees, the younger guard Sam recognizes from trips to and from the cell, and his head is bent to the earth, and Lydecker is behind him, holding a gun to the back of the guy's skull. Sam's heart rate picks up as he and his brother and the kids they've claimed as their own come to a halt. Everything is still shit.

And Alec's suddenly saying "no" over and over again, is dashing forward, so it's a good thing Sam's got exceptional reflexes for a guy who's genetically inferior, because he's fast enough to grab the kid and drag him back, and it's a struggle, it's a goddamn struggle, but he holds the kid tight and fast, doesn't let go because it's too big to kill, this monster in front of them, and the one thing you're not supposed to do when you can't kill it is run towards it.

"Alec, stop-"

"No, no, no, _nonono_-"

Sam holds him tight and cringes when the shot echoes through the air, when the kneeling guard falls face-first and limp into the grass. Alec's spew of negations turn into quiet, desperate sobs as Dean starts swearing up a storm, hollering out threats that can't possibly be realized given their situation, as Ben bolts over to his brother and doesn't say anything, just picks up the small wrist in his own small hand and holds it. The sobs stop as quickly as they started, leaving Alec with hitched breathing, dark eyes, and a hand that's reaching for Sam's gun.

"_Alec_-"

The kid's faster than him this time, though. Alec's so fast, he's an indefinable blur of motion yanking the gun away from Sam and starting forward. Dean's telling the kid no. Dean's telling him to get his ass back here but Alec's gone temporarily deaf. Alec's cocking the gun and stalking forward. The small soldiers tense and leer, edge to the center and accumulate, transform themselves into a solid, but uneven grey wall. They're of varying heights. Some of them haven't grown as quickly as the others – some of them are still so small, like Alec and Ben.

The armed men are raising their guns and aiming them at Alec. Dean sees this, Ben sees this, Sam sees this and Dean's rushing into the fray, following his clone, his kid into the fray and those guns are now pointed at Dean as well as Alec, and they're going to go off any second from now, they're going to shoot them dead, shoot Dean and Alec dead right in front of Sam and Ben. They'll be on the ground and their blood will be on the ground and they won't be moving because they'll be dead. They'll be gone. Sam won't have them anymore.

Panic. It rushes through Sam's arms and legs and he's so huge and there's so much of it, it's filling him up, he's surprised it's not bloating him out because there's so much of it and his heart is racing and his eyes are tearing and he can't even swallow and he feels his heart in his throat and he'd bolt forward, but Ben's hand is gripping some of his fingers, Ben's trembling little hand, and he's so damaged, this kid, so fucked-up because this place fucks people up like nobody's business and it's all panic and anger and panic and consummate rage and holy shit. Holy fucking shit.

The jeep rises up and crashes into the fence like it's been lifted by a pair of giant invisible arms and thrown. Men are flung from it, go down with it, and the children scatter, some of them even squeak in surprise and fear. Lydecker dodges to the side when a body flies his way and Dean snatches Alec up only to tumble to the ground, to cover the kid with his body because apparently it's not over yet. Guns are flying out of hands and hitting the ground and discharging and Sam grabs Ben and follows Dean's example until it goes quiet and then he gets up, pulls Ben to his feet, and they run to their brothers who are doing the same.

Alec tries to bolt again, but Dean's reflexes are good, too, and he hauls the boy back, presses him firmly into his torso. The gun is still gripped tight in the tiny hand and Sam steps forward, holding his own hand out. He says, "Give me the gun, Alec."

Alec's not looking at Sam. Alec's looking at the inert body in the grass. Blood is pooling from and around the head and they're so close to it, so close that Sam's kind of afraid the blood will make its way to the little boy feet, touch them and make this thing even more real than it already is. He wants to cover Alec's eyes, wants to cover Ben's eyes, but instead he reaches forward and threads the gun out of his child's fingers. He holds the weapon at his side with one hand, gently takes Alec's chin in the other, guides the face so they're making eye contact. He doesn't know what happened, but he knows Dean's looks like he knows the back of his own hand. "Nothing about this is your fault."

Dean holds the boy tighter and Sam sees his brother's strong arms twitch and tremble. The kid needs this, he does, he needs the reassurance, but they have to go. They have to go now. The little soldiers are standing off to the side with wary eyes; they're not going to attack anytime soon. Some men are crushed and broken on the ground, but others are getting to their feet, and they're looking at Sam like Sam looks at clowns. Of course, this doesn't mean one of them won't spontaneously regenerate some testicles in the next thirty seconds, so it's kind of imperative that they start running again. Now.

Alec turns his head to look at the body again and Sam swivels it back around, hates himself a little when he sees the look in the kid's eyes. "Alec?"

The boy's lips part and he sucks in a breath, says somewhat convincingly, "M'fine, Sam. M'alright."

Kid's not alright. Kid's not alright at all. Sam will try to fix it, though. He will. He and Dean will try to fix it. They just need to get out of here first.

There's a guy reaching for his gun, but he stops dead when Sam looks at him. They all stop dead when Sam looks at them. A few of them even run away. Dean snorts, squeezes Alec to himself one last time before pushing him towards Sam. He reaches out to Ben and does the same, says, "Take them and start running. I'll be right behind you."

He's got to be kidding. He's got to be fucking kidding, but Sam grabs both Ben and Alec before they can fling themselves in protest at his idiot brother. "Dean, what-"

"Go. _Now_." Dean doesn't wait for a response, just starts sprinting in Lydecker's direction and Sam grabs the arms of two unwilling boys, pulls them forward.

"He'll be right behind us," Sam tells them. They're uncertain and unwilling, but they run with him anyway because they believe him. They trust him. It's like when Sam said the apartment was clean, declared it spirit-free, and they relaxed. There could have still been a ghost, but they relaxed anyway because Sam said it. There's something terrifying about that.

Nobody attempts to stop them. They're still pants-pissing scared of Sam and there's something terrifying about that, too, because Sam likes the feeling of power it gives him. He tries not to think about that. He tries to only think about the little boys by his sides and his brother somewhere behind him, doing something undeniably and incomprehensibly stupid.

The jeep brought down a portion of the fence and they climb over the jeep in order to get out. It's easier this way.

* * *

Dean shoots the fucker in the hand upon approaching him and Lydecker's gun falls to the ground. He shoots the other hand, too, the one holding the walkie-talkie and the bastard cries out and Dean smirks a bitter smirk before reaching him, leaning down, hauling him up by the fabric of his shirt, and placing the barrel of the gun in the small of his back.

He grins cheerfully, rumbles into the guy's ear. "I got awesome aim, don't I? M'dad taught me how to shoot a gun when I was just seven years old. I was pretty awesome then, too." There's mad amounts of blood pouring from Lydecker's hands but Dean doesn't care. He doesn't care that the bastard probably won't be able to use them again, doesn't care at all, and he drags the fucker over to the jeep, over to the dent in the fence. The disarmed men are white-faced and backing away from him, probably scared that he's a freak like…no. Yes. _Yes_, Sam's a freak and Dean's a freak, and these guys are totally worried that Dean's a freak like Sam's a freak. Dean's a freak in a completely different way, but just this once he's kind of grateful that his little brother might have something truly scary inside of him.

He pushes Lydecker up to the fence, calls back to the children who aren't standing straight at all, but are fidgeting nervously about twenty yards away. "Kids? If you want to come, come now."

He waits for a few seconds. A few seconds is as long as he has. There are rumbles coming from behind him, coming from the direction of the facility, rumbles of multiple military vehicles headed right for him. He has to go now. He mutters, "Stupid friggin' walkie-talkie."

There aren't any takers. Some of them glare, some of them don't, but nobody wants to come with him. On some kind of sad level, he gets that. Home is the place you know.

He pushes Lydecker over the fence and the man trips and falls onto his bleeding hands, emits small, repressed noises of pain. Dean hauls him up again, drags him, runs and Lydecker runs with him to a point, but only to a point and Dean can't drag him any farther so he just shoves him against a tree, shoves the gun under his chin and says, "Tell me how you know about my brother."

Lydecker's eyes flutter. He pants, "I'm losing too much blood. I'm going to pass out."

Dean shoves him harder, knees him in the ribs. He moves the gun, presses it into Lydecker's throat. "Dude, I will blow your fucking head off and I'll do it in the next five seconds. I'm not even kidding. _Tell me_."

The words come out in a rasp, "We know because of you, Dean. You were pretty and strong and quite bright and you fell into our laps. We researched you."

"No amount of research would have uncovered that. Elaborate."

"Someone from the top came in with the information. Someone who strongly backed our hard work and efforts. He wanted this army to be as strong and amazing as it could possibly be. He congratulated us on acquiring your DNA and then he told us all about how your brother was special."

"What was his name?"

"He didn't have one."

Lydecker chokes. Dean doesn't blame him. The pressure of the gun against his throat must be unbearable at this point. "What. Was. His. Name." He takes some of the pressure off. Lydecker coughs.

"I don't _know_. He didn't offer it…he was an off-putting man, if you must know." Lydecker hesitates, trembles. Then he says, "He had odd eyes."

Dean's throat goes dry. So very dry. "Odd as in, like...yellow?"

"_Yes_." Dean pulls away. Lydecker tumbles to the ground, hacking and gasping for air, croaking, "You know him."

Dean collects himself. Then he smiles. "I killed him. I killed that sonuvabitch two years ago." He crouches down, gently places the gun under Lydecker's chin and guides his face to meet Dean's. "I killed him. I killed him like I should kill you for what you do to those kids…for what you did to my boys."

"They're not yours."

Dean pulls the gun back. Then he slams it across the fucker's face.

Lydecker falls to his side, but he's still conscious and Dean informs him, "They're pretty and strong and bright like me. They're mine. If you come after them again, I'm gonna kill you. And then I'll kill everyone who ever touched them in a way that I deem wrong and then I'll burn this motherfucking place to the ground. I promise you that. I promise you won't catch me off guard again."

Dean gets to his feet. The rumble of the vehicles is getting closer, is almost on top of him, and he looks down at the bleeding half-conscious man at his feet before kicking him in the ribs for good measure. And then he runs.

* * *

Ben sees Dean first, sees him coming through the brush with blood-soaked sweats and a stony face that erupts in a smile the moment the man catches sight of them. Ben wonders if he killed someone, but finds he doesn't really care, because Dean's here and he's not dead, and hopefully that's not his blood.

"Is that your blood?" Alec demands to know, but only after he's in Dean's arms, has his face buried in the hunter's neck.

Dean smirks. "Nah, kitten. S'not my blood."

Ben's more hesitant, trotting forward, hand taking hold of a tiny portion of the sweatshirt that's still dry. He asks, "Did you kill someone?"

Dean loses his balance slightly as he shifts Alec to one arm and crouches to pull Ben into his other. "I don't think so, Benny. Wanted to, though."

"I don't mind either way," Ben says honestly, and he feels Dean's stubbled cheek against his face.

"You're an idiot." Sam somehow manages to sound incredibly angry and somewhat amused at the same time. "A big, freaking idiot." And then, as if that's not enough, Sam adds, "And a jerk. You're also a jerk."

"You're a bitch," Dean retorts. "A little bitch with a brain on steroids. Seriously, dude, that was freaking ridiculous."

Sam threw that jeep into the fence somehow. Ben's aware of this though he's not sure how it's possible and he hasn't asked because Sam's scared of it. Ben knows Sam's scared of it. He saw the look on Sam's face after it happened, felt the panicked breathing beating down on his skin when Sam covered him as the guns shot off by themselves.

Sam's gone quiet. Dean puts Alec down and says they have to keep moving. So they keep moving.

They're miles away, by the side of the road, when Alec throws up. Ben doesn't know why his brother throws up, but he does, and he cries a little so Ben holds his hand and squeezes while Sam rubs Alec's back and Dean strokes the prickly head.

"S'like a hedgehog," Dean says lightly.

"M'want my hair back," Alec replies, tears still evident from the exertion.

They have to keep moving. Dean plucks Alec up first, but Alec reaches for Sam, who looks surprised and then kind of happy as he takes the kid into his tired arms. Dean looks down at Ben and asks him if he wants a ride and Ben kind of does, but Dean's tired and Ben doesn't want to be a problem so he shakes his head no. Dean shrugs his eyebrows and curls his big hand around Ben's tiny one. They keep moving.

It's dark by the time they reach the bar. Alec's eyes light up at the partially blacked-out neon sign, but he accepts that this isn't the time or place to run in and enjoy the atmosphere. He tells Sam and Dean and Ben this in tones that indicate he believes he's doing something incredibly selfless here and then he smiles. It's a nice smile. Sam puts him down and shields Dean from sight as Dean hot-wires an old, but sturdy-looking car and Ben edges over until his arm is grazing Alec's arm. He feels warmer this way.

The engine starts and Sam herds them into the back which smells like cigarettes and bodily fluids, and he shuts the door behind them before running and launching himself into the passenger seat. Dean's already reversing out by the time Sam manages to shut his own door.

Ben and Alec huddle together in the center of the backseat. Sam reaches back a hand and pats them both on the knee. Dean tries to, too, even though his hand is blind what with his eyes being on the road and all.

Ben leans against his brother and concentrates on the motion of the car. He feels Alec's hand grip his wrist, and his arm shakes because Alec's trembling. They're moving fast. They're getting away. Ben only wishes they could leave it behind.


	22. Gold Star

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Twenty-Two - Gold Star_

_

* * *

_

The sun's a cruel and beautiful bastard. Alec decides this when he opens his eyes and there's light just flooding through the car windows, assaulting his head with its ferocity, and he turns as much as he can to look at his brother, who is slumped against him, who hasn't moved since they got in this car hours and hours ago when it was dark out. Dean's asleep in the driver's seat, Sam in the passenger, and their breathing is deep and synchronized. The sunlight is hitting their hair and their skin and they're so bright, everything is so bright. Alec doesn't think the world has ever been this bright before.

He looks out the fingerprint-smeared window to see trees and gravel and dirt. It's a logging road and there's no cars, or even trucks, and Alec knows he probably shouldn't, but he feels safe right now, right here. He shouldn't. They could track them down at any time and Dean...Dean said he didn't think he killed anyone. Any time, they could be tracked down and dragged back, but Alec's not feeling that. He's too tired and fucked-up to feel that. That doesn't mean that logic's not telling him they should get moving soon, though.

Ben's eyes flutter open when Alec attempts to untangle himself.

"Where're you going?" his brother whispers.

Alec pats his knee with a reassuring hand. "Nowhere," he replies. "Were you awake when we stopped? D'ya know when?"

Ben looks out the window, judges the position of the sun with squinting eyes. "Maybe five hours ago."

Alec nods to himself and starts for the front of the car only to be dragged back by his grey sweatshirt.

"Dude, Ben…"

"They're _tired_, Alec." Ben's eyes are wide and earnest and maybe just a bit fearful and he's biting his lip like he does when he's dazed and sad. Alec knows his twin. He knows these signs. Ben doesn't know what's what right now. It's kind of irritating, actually. Like last night, Ben was being all stiff and tentative even though he was trying really hard not to show it, and he kept looking at Sam and Dean like they were going to yell at him just for being there. Alec wanted to tell his brother to cut it out. Sam and Dean want them. Alec knows they do because they keep calling Ben and Alec stupid girly pet names and don't acknowledge it afterwards because they're stupid and girly, but they call them those things, anyway. Alec doesn't really care. In fact, he kind of likes it. "Sweetheart," while at times cringe-inducing, might very well be one step closer to light-up sneakers and complete Winchester domination.

And maybe such names kind of make him feel warm and safe in an unexplainable way. Kind of like this logging road, but logic still wins.

"We need to keep going," he replies. "They'll be okay. We'll be able to stop eventually."

He hopes that isn't a lie. He's all graceful limbs as he wedges his way into the front, climbs into Dean's lap. Dean grunts and his eyes flutter open and he squints because the sun is bright and then Alec isn't so graceful anymore because there's a steering wheel in his way and he's too big to fit, damnit, and he keeps trying until Dean yawns and maneuvers him so that his back is against the door and his legs are trailing over to rest on a slowly-waking Sam.

Dean scrubs a hand over his face, rubs at his sleep-encrusted eyes with two fingers until Alec grabs his arm and blankets it over himself. That's when Dean starts peering at him like he's not sure whether he's Alec or Ben and Alec gets that because the entire climbing-into-the-lap, situating-arms-around-himself is totally a Ben thing to do, but fuck it, he's Alec and he can do these things, too.

"Where in the fuck are we?"

Dean snorts and tucks him in closer. Alec fidgets and nudges his nose into the man's neck as Sam's eyes flutter open.

"Language, Alec."

Alec smirks and circles a ring of blood on Dean's sweatshirt with the tip of a finger. "Uncle Sam's vigilant this morning."

Sam responds with a sleepy smile and a shaking of one of the small feet invading his lap.

"S'a logging road, kitten," Dean finally murmurs. "We should be good here."

"I can drive if you're too tired."

"Yeah? Think your feet can reach the pedals?"

"Uh huh."

"Think you'll be able to see over the steering wheel?"

"'Course."

"Well, I think we're all set then, little dude. I see absolutely no problem with this course of action…" Dean trails off. They both wait for it, for Sam's pseudo-outraged, "_Dean_," but it never comes. Sam just raises an eyebrow in their general direction and twists around to look back at Ben.

"He awake?" Dean's chest rumbles with the words. Alec presses closer, tries to feel it more while Sam nods and reaches an arm back to touch Ben. Dean moves a little under Alec, tries to get a glimpse of the kid in the backseat, but Alec refuses to move in order to make things easier. He hates himself a little for it, but it's one of those feelings he can also kind of shrug off. Ben will get over this.

Dean asks, "Why so serious, Benny?"

"M'fine."

"You can't be fine. You're not giggling."

Sam huffs and reaches over Alec's legs in order to flick Dean on the forehead.

"_Ow_. You little-"

"How in the hell is he going to get that reference, Dean? And even if he could, why would he giggle? Can we say over-used much?"

Dean sniffs indignantly. "S'a Batman reference. He'll get it one day. And it'll _never_ get old."

Alec squirms on Dean's lap, makes a face, because this is going to be one of those useless little arguments they have and they really don't have the time for this. He likes the arguments, he does, and he always wants to be able to hear them, always wants everyone together so they can happen with as much frequency as possible.

"It's already old."

"It is _not_-"

"I miss my underwear," Alec announces. "My underwear was awesome." That shuts them up. Sam is, in fact, beginning to smile and Alec can kind of feel Dean's cheek plump against his face so he's pretty sure this was a win on his part. "Ben, don't you miss our underwear?"

It takes his brother a while to respond and Alec's almost afraid that he won't when a quiet, but honest "'course I do" comes from backseat.

"Of course you do," Dean agrees. "I bought you that underwear."

"With _my_ stealings," Alec reminds him. "But I'm still grateful. It's some pretty sweet underwear." Pretty sweet underwear that he wants to get back to. "I think we should start moving now. Can we start moving now?"

"Soon, Alec."

"But-"

"It's gonna be okay." The playfulness in Dean's voice is gone – the tone is low and gruff despite the reassurance of the words and Alec tenses a little until he feels Dean pat his hip. "You gotta trust me."

"I do."

"Good, 'cause before we go anywhere, I gotta take a leak. So does Sam. He's got a bladder the size of a pea, this kid."

"Shut up, Dean."

"You shut up. Benny, you gotta pee?"

"Uh huh."

"Awesome." Alec feels a hand worm its way behind him, feels it brace him as the door he's been leaning against is shoved open and cool air assaults the back of his neck. "Looks like you're coming, too, then, kitten. We've reached that territory where no man gets left behind."

Dean's careful about getting Alec to the ground. His head doesn't bump the roof of the car or anything and Dean smirks at him as he swings his legs out, gets to his feet, and stretches. Alec hears the bones pop. He shifts a little, from one foot to the other, begins to realize that he, too, has to urinate. Dean notices this and his smirk widens into a shit-eating grin before he turns around to open the door for Ben.

"C'mere, kid."

Ben edges out and steps onto the gravel with hesitant feet. Alec watches his twin sway for a moment, watches him peer up at Dean real quick before lowering his eyes to the ground. Alec wants to tell him to cut it out, because Dean's biting his lip and looking sad like Ben does sometimes and Alec doesn't like that look, even if it is genetic. Even if there is reason. Even if bad shit happened. Even if Ben didn't keep his wits about him. Even if Dean couldn't kill the guy like he said he would. Even if Sam can move ridiculously big shit with his mind. Even if inherently decent human beings are dead. Even if it's Alec's fault. Even if Alec's fucked up and Ben's fucked up and they're all freaks in ways only they can understand, Alec doesn't like that look.

Alec bites his lip and swallows some sadness down. Dean places a hand on Ben's shoulder and squeezes.

"What did I tell you?" he asks, and the question is so quiet, Alec can barely hear it. Sam probably can't hear it at all.

Ben looks up at Dean and blinks. He can't remember. Alec can tell. He doesn't know which time Dean's talking about. He can't remember if it's the time when Dean wasn't Dean, if it's the time that Not Dean said to stop crying and that his name wasn't Dad, and Alec knows better. Or Ben knows better. Alec's not sure what the difference is and he's not entirely sure they saw the same things, but he's chancing a guess. Dean gets this, though.

"When you had the knife and it was just you and me and Sam and Alec," Dean clarifies, his voice still so quiet. "What did I tell you that was important? The most important thing I said. Recite it back."

"You…" That lip's gonna bleed. Alec's pretty sure of it. Dean taps Ben's mouth with his finger until the teeth relinquish their victim and Ben blinks and ducks his head until Dean clears his throat and then he makes eye contact, because that's what's supposed to happen when they have these uncomfortably necessary conversations. "You'll always want me."

Dean beams. "Gold star, kiddo."

"What's a gold star?"

"Something that means you're amazing and one hundred percent correct. Don't worry, I'm sure your Uncle Sam will buy you some stickers one of these days. Maybe some unicorn stickers, even. Sparkly ones."

"Shut up, Dean."

"What? Stickers are awesome."

They keep on like that. Alec's fine with it this time because as soon as they pee, they'll be on their way again, they'll be closer to the purchase of these mystical gold stars and that wondrous underwear that Alec misses so much. They'll be closer to the Impala, wherever she is, because she's out there and she's home. She's a shiny home that's even shinier today, so shiny that they'll find her. Alec's sure of this. Today is an extremely bright day.

* * *

The motel shower stays surprisingly and fantastically hot. Dean wants to stay in it forever, but he can't because Sam's pounding on the door. Sam wants in, and who can blame the little bitch, honestly? This is freaking heaven.

He throws back his head and lets the water pound onto his face, pour down his cheeks, onto his shoulders and he's so tired he almost falls asleep like this, almost falls asleep standing up on a wet and slippery surface and wouldn't that be ironic if that was the way Dean Winchester bit it? Cheating death a thousand times over and then catching it while enjoying something normal. Dean snorts to himself, absently rubs his wet belly with a wet hand. He's so tired that dying this way seems almost fitting.

Sam's fist pounds the door again. "You're such a _jerkface_."

The word 'jerkface' leaves Dean giggling helplessly under the showerhead because he's a bad brother, just like he's a bad parental figure. There was twenty bucks in the glove compartment of that car, that car which they inevitably ditched, and twenty bucks, while an awesome discovery, wasn't getting them anywhere. And Dean's sweatshirt was covered in dry blood that so obviously wasn't his own, so he couldn't very well attempt to con anyone out of their money, and Sam, while admittedly good at some things, isn't the best conman. Sam isn't a Dean.

Alec and Ben are Deans, though, and earlier this afternoon, they hit the strip of sidewalk within Dean's range of sight and picked the pockets of people who looked like they could spare a few bills, just enough to put them up for a couple of nights and get them a set of clothes apiece. Alec, of course, made sure to pick a few more than necessary. "There's a bar on the edge of town," he explained, his little face awash with glee. "We can _triple_ it."

Sam raps on the door again.

"Untwist your panties, gigantor," Dean calls cheerfully. "M'coming."

He wraps a towel around his waist, spends just enough time in front of the fogged-up mirror spiking his wet hair for Sam to start pounding and snarking again.

Dean smirks when he opens the door and skirts by his angered little brother into the main room, which is small as fuck, but actually has two whole beds. Alec and Ben are huddled together on the one farthest from the door, hair still damp, skin still freshly-washed and glowing, wearing long-sleeved shirts and jeans that are just a bit too big for them.

"Showers are amazing," he informs them, tugging a loose T-shirt over his head. "They're right up there with Marcia Brady and pie."

"Who's Marcia Brady?" Ben asks.

Dean pauses and tries to figure out how to respond to this while Sam, obviously eavesdropping from the bathroom, calls out, "A fictional character with very little cultural relevance!"

"Don't listen to him," Dean tells them. "He was glued to _TV Land _as soon as he hit puberty…" he trails off, cocks his head to the side and reconsiders that statement. "Of course with your Uncle Sam, it was probably for Jan."

"Who's Jan?" Alec pipes up.

"Doesn't matter," Dean replies as he tugs on a pair of jeans, because it really doesn't matter at all. He shrugs an eyebrow and dives onto the bed amidst his clones, pokes his mischievous fingers into their tiny sides. They giggle and pile on top of him just like he knew they would because they're awesome like that.

Sam's still in the shower when Ben and Alec collapse at his sides, breathing heavier than they probably have to. Dean could totally just pass out now. His eyelids are heavy and dropping by the second and he can't help but think, despite his recent hot shower, how he's been cold for days, how there's still that lasting chill in his bones that's quickly disappearing because there are furnaces digging into his sides right now, furnaces with limbs and faces that are soft and burrowing into his chest, furnaces that are gripping the thin fabric of his Goodwill T-shirt in their small fists because Dean's here and they're here and Sam's in the shower, Dean can hear the water, and they can't let go or leave sight because then they might disappear. Dean's certain of this. Winchester familial foundations are always crumbling with loss and without each other they have no one. Well, no one except-

"Oh,_ crap_."

"D-Dean?" Ben stumbles over his name, but it still manages to come out all innocent and adoring. Dean feels a pang between his heart and his throat and he tries to crush it because it has no right to be there. Ben used to call Dean something else, before all this stupid shit went down.

"S'okay, Benny. I just remembered I forgot to call Bobby."

He reaches over the boy for the phone, sets the bulk of it on his belly and begins to lazily dial when Alec starts tugging at the receiver in his hand.

"Can I talk to him first? He'll be _delighted_."

Dean breathes a laugh and gives in without an argument. He wraps an arm around Ben and watches as Alec eagerly waits for Bobby to pick up, watches the green eyes twinkle merrily when he finally does. Dean just barely hears the crackle of the gruff greeting.

"Bob_by_! S'Alec…uh huh, we're fine. Yeah I know, it's been a long time, but we have an _excuse_…"

Sam comes out of the bathroom, then, with one towel around his waist and another going at his hair because he's a gigantic girl. It's when Alec chirps, "No, seriously, we _do_" and Sam looks at Dean and mouths "Bobby?" that Dean starts to reconsider this decision. He reaches for the phone only to have Alec jerk away.

"Nah, it wasn't anything supernatural. It was the _government_…yeah, that's right. They kidnapped and tortured us and almost killed Sam and Dean but we got away because Sam can move jeeps and shit with his mind because he's scary like that."

Sam's face falls and Dean shifts uncomfortably because he doesn't know how to alleviate this situation and Bobby's voice is starting to get louder on the other end of the line. Alec seems pretty oblivious to this. He covers the mouthpiece with his hand and grins at Sam. "I don't think you're scary, though, Sam. I think you're badass like all good uncles should be."

Sam raises his eyebrows, but his face is noticeably brighter as he continues to towel his hair. "Uh, well, thanks, buddy."

"No problem – yeah, no. We're fine, Bobby. I mean, we're all pretty emotionally fragile and most likely damaged for all of eternity, but there're no limbs lost or anything." Dean reaches for the phone again and once again, Alec expertly eludes him, crosses one casual leg over the other and settles his back into a pillow. "Bobby, we're pals, right? D'ya think you could try to convince Sam and Dean that Ben and I are entitled to some weaponry? I mean, it's not our fault we're small. It's ageism, pure and simple. I'm sure you agree that-" The crackle is loud enough now to indicate that Bobby's speaking in a restrained holler, and Alec cringes and hands the phone over to Dean. "Speak carefully. I think he's about to start making woodshed threats again."

Dean snorts, and takes the phone, explains the situation in some more detail before holding the receiver away from his ear as a spew of "idgits" are released over the line. "Seriously, though, Bobby we're okay," he says when it's all said and done and he has the phone back up to his ear. "We're just tired and I don't know where my car is." Another pang. He doesn't try to crush this one. He's entitled to his car. "I miss m'car."

He hears Bobby heave a sigh. _"I have your car, boy."_

Dean's throat goes dry. He couldn't have heard that right. That…things like that don't…but it's Bobby. Bobby always… "You have my car? Are you-"

"_I have your car, Dean."_

"Bobby, I…how? Jesus motherfucking Christ, dude. I love you like the Beav loves Ward Cleaver."

"_Dean."_

"I mean, if Ward Cleaver wasn't some 1950's suburban tool. You gotta admit, though, he wears his slippers like you wear your trucker hat. You'll admit to that, right? That's pretty badass…dude_, you have my car_."

"'_Course I do, you little dumbass. You didn't answer your phone for days. I tracked your daddy's old one in the glove compartment and when the car was just abandoned and you and Sam weren't anywhere and the boys weren't…" _Bobby trails off. Guy sounds like he has a lump in his throat, the affectionate old bastard.

Dean brings the phone in close enough that his lips brush the mouthpiece, mumbles, "M'sorry, Bobby."

A grizzled throat clears. "_I brought 'er home. Figured you'd show up sometime_."

"Thanks, man. We'll be there tomorrow night."

"_You sure as hell better be_."

"We will be."

"_I repeat, you sure as hell better be_."

Dean grins and says a quick, "Bye, Bobby" before hanging up the phone and pumping his fist into the air. The boys topple onto him. Sam grins as he pulls on his clothes. Alec asks, "D'ya think Alec II's still in there? And Ben's bear? I mean I don't care or anything, not really…just wondering."

The kid cares. Dean can tell, and he's kind of sorry he didn't think to ask about their things, but really he's still caught up in the fact that his baby's okay.

Dean ghosts a hand over the prickly head. "Where'd we leave 'em?"

"In your bag. We put our bags in the trunk before we left for the store."

"They're probably still in there, kitten."

Alec nods, though he looks like he doesn't really believe it. Dean suggests they get some shut eye and Alec climbs over him and Ben to sleep with Sam, grumbling derogatory things about this "two separate beds" business under his breath.

Dean reaches over and turns off the lamp. The room falls dark. Ben curls into him, whispers "Goodnight, Dean" in the softest of voices and Dean rumbles a "Goodnight, Benny" back at him. He stays awake for some time, blinking until he can make out the grey ceiling, counting what cracks he can see, feeling Ben's hand grip and release his shirt. He's well aware that the kid is still awake, but neither of them acknowledges it. Things are falling into place, like they so often do, but there's still a distance here, one that's been sliced into them by seven days of Manticore prep, rules and lies that have been stamped into the heads of the young and impressionable and damaged.

Rules. Dean can make up rules.

"Benny, s'bedtime. Go to sleep."

Ben ducks a guilty head into his pillow, mumbles, "I don't want to dream."

Dean can make up lies, too. "You won't. M'here. If you do dream, I'll make sure it's nothing bad. I'm super powerful that way."

"I know."

Dean's surprised by that, but he doesn't show it. "You should. Now I want you to close your eyes and think about things that are awesome. Are your eyes closed, sweetheart?"

"They're closed."

"Good. Now I want you to think about ice cream and pie and double bacon cheeseburgers. Oh, and oatmeal. You like oatmeal. Think about the car, too. She's our baby."

"She's incredible," Ben agrees, but his voice is sad.

Dean curls an arm around him, tucks him in so that his back is against Dean's chest, with his head under Dean's chin. "She is. She's your sister and your mother and your grandmother and your father's mistress. She's blood in every way that's not red and liquid and tomorrow you'll see her again."

The boy goes still. Dean moves his chin across the shorn head, lowers his face just enough to brush his lips across it. "She's one of the most awesome things in the entire world. Just like you and Alec and Sam. And Angus Young."

"Hells Bells," Ben murmurs.

"Fuckin' A," Dean says.

They fall asleep.


	23. Dogs, Bears, Cars, & Spoons

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Twenty-Three - Dogs, Bears, Cars, & Spoons_

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* * *

_

It's snowing when they hit South Dakota, which would be fine with Sam if their freshly stolen car hadn't come complete with a cracked windshield, a broken heater, and a passenger-side window that's stuck three-quarters of the way up with nothing covering it but a torn piece of tarp and masking tape- or if the thrift store coats he purchased in haste yesterday weren't riddled with holes. He tries not to shiver and fails.

"We're fine, Sam," Alec says and Sam blinks and shakes his head a little because it's just now that he's realizing he's twisted around and staring at them. "We have a higher-"

"Body temperature," Sam cuts him off. "Right. I remember." He knows the kid's not lying- he knows both Alec and Ben aren't bothered by the cold in the least because he's looking at them and they're looking back and not shivering at all. This doesn't stop the cold gusts beating against the side of his head, or the chill seeping through his thrift store clearance coat. This doesn't stop the belief that since he is cold, then they are cold, and their heads are without sufficient coverage and he really should have bought them hats yesterday and he's a terrible uncle.

Or whatever he is. They call him uncle a lot now.

"We're fine, Uncle Sam," Ben repeats, and it's dark but Sam can see his earnest eyes, can feel the tension and concern radiating from the boy. "You look cold. D'you want our coats?" Little fingers are going for the zipper. Sam reaches out a hand and grabs the boy's wrist before he can get any further with that plan, because no, of course he doesn't want their coats. He doesn't need their coats. He feels warmer now, if only from the gesture.

The limb in his hand tenses and shakes and Sam realizes that grabbing the kid in such an abrupt manner probably wasn't the best course of action. Ben is looking at him, wide eyes glinting, and Sam internally curses himself before gently setting the hand back down onto the tiny lap. He moves his own hand upwards, brushes two broad fingertips down Ben's cheek, which is soft and warm, and the kid trembles a little before relaxing.

"I don't want your coats, sweetheart. Leave 'em on." The endearment slips from his lips before he can stop it. He doesn't try to take it back.

Ben nods against his hand, though his voice quietly insists, "We don't need 'em. Really."

Sam offers him a smile, strokes the kid's cheek with his thumb and then pulls his hand away. "Thanks, Benny, but I still want you to keep them on, okay?"

The kid lowers his eyes. "Yes, sir."

_Don't call me sir_. Sam thinks about saying it, but he doesn't. The last thing he needs is for Ben to think he's scolding him, and it would be confusing with the way Dean's been accepting the term of address with smiles and praise and hair ruffling for these past few months. But the kid's eyes are lowered and submissive and Sam finds he can't stand this feeling the grouping of this word and these actions give him. "You don't have to call me that, buddy. Not if you don't want to. Okay? Sam's fine." Ben starts nodding, but then his eyes glaze over and he bites his lip, and Sam quickly rectifies, "Or Uncle Sam. Sam or Uncle Sam. You can call me whatever you want. I just don't want you feeling like you have to call me anything you don't want to, okay?"

"Bobby said we should call him 'sir' if we piss him off," Alec interjects.

"That would be the smart thing to do," Dean says, and Sam turns back around, looks at his brother who has one hand on the steering wheel and the other up to his mouth. Dean's blowing on his cold hand and Sam feels like a terrible brother. He should have bought gloves. "You piss Bobby off, you kiss his ass as much as possible in order to make it up to him. You do this because Bobby is awesome."

_You do this because Bobby has Dean's car_. Dean doesn't say these words, but Sam knew from the second Bobby announced that he'd gone looking for them, that he'd brought their abandoned home back to the Singer Salvage Yard, that Dean had immediately decided he was forever in the man's debt. Not that they weren't in the first place. Bobby's always been there, has always looked after them when they needed looking after.

They need looking after now. They're getting on, but they're rattled, and broken, and fucked-up shit happened and it's not gone, Sam's freaky psychic shit's not gone, and maybe he's still a monster inside because tiny children with super strength and a terrible childhood looked at him with fear in their eyes. And part of him liked it, and part of him was scared shitless, and he can't control it. He can't control it at all. He freaked out and it happened not once, but twice, and Sam could freak out again, could freak out anytime, and what would break then? What if next time, it's not the people taking them hostage? What if next time Sam freaks out and it's Dean who gets thrown or crushed? Or Alec and Ben?

The back of a hand collides with his arm. Dean asks, "You okay there, Geek Boy?"

"M'fine, Dean."

"Y'sure? Is your face just frozen that way then?"

Sam doesn't know what way his face is exactly, but he shakes his head and socks Dean in the thigh. It's fucking cold as hell and now his stomach is twisting in awful ways and he just wants to get to Bobby's, wants to get warm and maybe drink something stiff and fall asleep.

He shivers and crosses his arms and stares out the windshield, twitches when cold air beats the side of his face, and he stares and stares and tries to zone out to make this ride more bearable when a hand grabs the sleeve of his coat and pulls.

Alec. Alec's climbing up front, into his lap. Kid's a blanket, a hot, electric blanket and Sam curls his arms around the slight torso and brushes his nose over the top of the prickly head.

"Alec, buddy, this isn't safe," he murmurs despite himself. "The car's moving and it's snowing. If Dean crashed-"

"Dad's not gonna crash," Alec says indignantly. "Stop slandering his good name with your hypothetical situations."

Words are just slipping out of mouths tonight, sweethearts and dads and sirs and uncles. Sam closes his eyes and keeps his face nuzzled against the boy's head, wonders if Alec's even aware of his own lapse. Sam feels the tops of his brother's fingers graze against his cheek as they reach to touch Alec.

"We're not Britney Spears, kitten." Dean's voice is touched with warm amusement. "Kids in laps while driving can only lead to nominations for Worst Parents in the World."

"Who's Britney Spears?" Alec asks.

Sam opens his eyes to see Dean shrug a nonchalant shoulder. "Some hot, crazy chick who pumps out a veritable sea of awful music. It's probably best if you don't know about her."

"Okay." Alec agrees easily, melting in a limp mass against Sam. He's so warm and Sam doesn't want to move him. Sam wants to keep him here forever.

"Backseat, Alec." Dean reaches over and pats the smaller knee resting on Sam's gigantic one.

"Uncle Sam's cold," Alec retorts. "I'd do the same for you if that stupid steering wheel weren't in the way. M'altruistic like that."

"He's altruistic like that, Dean." Sam doesn't even know, anymore. All he knows is that every time he's felt like shit in the past couple of days, this kid has suddenly been there, reaching for him or burrowing into his side or saying words like, "_I don't think you're scary, though, Sam. I think you're badass…_" and it's the only thing that's kept Sam from going absolutely insane with all of these thoughts and fears whirling around inside of him.

"There's snow on the ground. If the tires slip and I crash, his head goes through the windshield. You want that?"

Sam sighs, wonders why it's now Dean has to make sense.

"I'm genetically-"

"Alec, I don't want to hear any of this genetically superior shit. Heads through windshields are never okay. Now get your little keister in the backseat."

The kid sighs and grumbles and swears, but he carefully climbs out of Sam's lap and returns to the backseat. Sam chances a glance back, fully expecting the world of sulk he finds on Alec's face and he smiles and reaches back and taps the kid's thigh, stage whispers, "Dean just said _keister_."

Alec snorts and Ben smiles behind a shy hand.

"Dude, keister is a hilarious word," Dean protests as Sam turns back around. "It's one of the funniest_ ass_ words of all time."

"Why are you emphasizing ass?" Sam asks.

"Because ass is _the_ funniest ass word of all time." Sam watches as Dean glances in the rearview, watches his brother's eyebrows furrow nervously. The guy's quiet for a while, quiet like the backseat is quiet, quiet like Sam's quiet, and they've gotta be getting to Bobby's soon when Dean finally clears his throat and his mouth turns into an awkwardly sputtering motor. "Alec, baby, if you needed a…um, _cuddle_ -"

Baby. The kids are turning into the Impala.

"Jesus Christ." Alec sounds mortified. "Don't."

The relief on Dean's face is palpable. "Okay. I won't."

Sam snorts. Actions are fine, words are not. It's the Code of Winchester that might well be as genetic as it is communicative. Dean got it from John. Sam wonders if Alec gets it from Dean, or if he gets it from John, as well. He wonders if John got it from someone else, or if it's just another bitter habit that sprung from the flames of his mother's death.

Whatever.

Sam thinks they should ditch the car before they get to Bobby's, but Dean shakes his head, informs Sam that he's fucking cold and he's not walking any snow-filled miles tonight. They can leave it in the junkyard, deal with it tomorrow, and besides, who the hell is going to miss this piece of shit, anyway?

"Nobody, that's who," Dean says, pointing a single, half-frozen finger at Sam while turning into the salvage yard with his steering hand. The Impala comes into view almost immediately, glinting in the headlights of this junker they've been suffering in all day, and Dean's face breaks out into that smile that he only wears when he and his car are reunited after a too-long separation. "Christ. Look at 'er." He's breathless. Sam's torn between amusement, exasperation, and total agreement. Because look at her. _Look _at her_. _She's home.

Dean pops his door open and tears out of the car and Sam turns around to find the backseat is empty. Alec and Ben are already out of the car, are at Dean's heels and then they're all at the Impala, running loving hands over her sides, her hood, her trunk.

Sam stands back for a minute and watches them. This is his brother three times over, two times small and half-innocent, still broken, but this is his brother multiplied and it makes Sam dizzy thinking about it. Dean has six hands and six feet, fifteen layers of skin sheltering the most painful kinds of love and insecurity and need.

And then there's Sam. The one Sam whom they take care of, all of them, in their own little ways, and Sam takes care of them, too, sometimes. When they let him. When they're not driving him crazy. When he's not frustrated to the point of imminent explosion.

Sam shivers and swallows. He could explode anytime. And then there might not be Deans anymore, big or small. He doesn't want to think about this, though. He can't think about this because Bobby's on his porch, asking them why they're out here freezing their asses off.

It's a good question.

"My car, Bobby," Dean calls back, brushing away a heap of snow to rub his cheek affectionately against her ebony roof. "She needs to know we still love her."

Sam's not close enough to see the eye roll or hear the muttered "idgit," but he's pretty sure that's what's filling the space in the time it takes Bobby to say, "I think she knows, boy. Get in here."

They get in there. The cold starts dripping from Sam as soon as he steps into the house. He's a melting icicle standing on this old wooden floor, melting away, and he's almost gone when two strong arms circle him, when a sturdy hand pats him on the back, reminding him that he's still here. Sam inhales. Bobby smells like pine and oil and gunpowder.

"You alright, Sam?"

He's not. Or he is. Sam's not altogether sure, but he thinks he'll be improved, at least, once he can fully feel his skin again. "M'fine, Bobby."

"You're all lookin' scrawny. Did those bastards feed you anything?"

"Some. We didn't eat more than we had to." It's then that Sam realizes that the house is filled with the smell of chili, that Bobby's kept something on the stove for them, that they're not going to be cold or hungry tomorrow or have to walk miles on tired feet because they're here. They're here with Bobby and the Impala. And chili.

Dean clears his throat. Sam flicks his gaze up as Bobby pulls away. Dean's shifting awkwardly on his feet and his skin has that flush to it that means he's already gotten his hug, that it was actually a somewhat long hug that Dean needed, but is embarrassed about taking, anyway. He's smirking to cover this up, of course, like he always does. Sam rolls his eyes and wonders if he really did melt for just that moment, if he really was gone, because he sure as hell wasn't aware at all of what was happening right next to him.

"S'our stuff still in the trunk, Bobby?" Dean asks.

"Living room," Bobby grunts, waving a hand in the general direction of said room. "Go do what you need to do, then come eat."

They don't need to be told twice. Their bags are on the couch and on the floor, and Alec's the first to reach them, ripping into Dean's with zest and yanking clothes out and throwing them this way and that, only stopping when he finally finds what he's looking for. He's careful with the big-pawed stuffed dog, taking it gently around the belly, holding it upright so its limbs flop at its sides, holding it close enough that its plastic nose touches Alec's own. He stares it in the eye like its real. Sam feels like he's invading a private moment until Alec nods in a deciding manner, lowers the plush animal and clutches it against his chest.

He smirks and his eyes twinkle like this display was all a big joke. "Y'know, me n' Alec II are natural enemies, what with him being a dog and all…but I think he missed me."

Dean snorts. Sam snorts. Even Ben snorts. Alec reaches back into Dean's bag before throwing the nameless bear at his brother, who catches it and smiles at it, even hugs it, but doesn't seem nearly as enthralled as Alec was with his own reunion. Dean picks his clothes up off the floor, tosses pairs of Batman underpants at his clones along with two of his own shirts because they're eating and then they're sleeping and it's going to be fantastic, isn't it?

It is.

None of them seem to believe in privacy anymore. They strip and redress in the living room, donning the familiar T-shirts and underwear they've been wearing for months and years. Sam claims the afghan off the couch, wraps it around himself, because he's still feeling that awful cold and he's aiming to either rub it away or smother it to death.

The chili is hot and the house is warm and Sam's eyes are closing as he blows over a spoonful before inserting the delicious, hearty meal into his mouth, rolling it over his tongue and swallowing, feeling the meat and peppers heat his blood and his bones, soothing that aching, empty pit in his stomach that's been festering for nearly a day now. It feels amazing. He opens his eyes.

Dean's sitting between Alec and Ben on the opposite side of the table. They're huddled so close that all their arms are touching. Spoonful after spoonful enters each mouth and each of them is wearing an identical expression of sheer elation with each bite. Not even Ben's being hesitant in his consumption, whereas normally the boy would be savoring his food like Sam savors his. Trauma clearly brings out the instinctual Dean in this kid.

"Tomorrow," Sam tells Bobby, who's standing expectantly over him as soon as four bowls are sitting empty on the table. "Tomorrow we'll tell you everything." Bobby nods and rests a hand on his shoulder, squeezes with warm, strong fingers that lull Sam into closing his eyes once again. He opens them when the hand is gone, opens them to find that same hand fondly scrubbing over Dean's hair, then skimming gently over the two smaller heads.

"Get some rest."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean calls over his shoulder.

"Get some rest," Bobby repeats.

There are pillows and blankets on the sofa, which instantly get spread onto the floor and toppled onto by Deans. Sam sits himself down on the couch and watches them get situated, watches as his brother joyfully stuffs a dog and a bear under two protesting child-sized arms before tucking a worn paisley sheet and a blanket up to their chins.

"Uncle Sam?" Ben springs up as Dean wedges himself between his boys, looks at Sam with nervous eyes.

"M'gonna take the couch, kiddo."

"But-"

"I'll be right here, Benny." After all, there's no sense in having a couch if you're not going to lay on it. That, and there's something that's simultaneously comforting and devastating about this distance between him and them. Here he can see them, they're spread out in front of him. He can point his finger and count them off. _One, two, three_. Three of the same freckled nose and animated mouth, which rises in a slight smirk on the small ones even as they shut down for the night.

But Sam's here and not there. He put himself here, on this couch, and now there's that prevalent feeling of familial detachment that he's been experiencing since he first learned to ask, "Why?" Dean fit, Dean forced himself to fit into that role that Dad gave him, that role of Dad while Dad's away, he took it on like a second skin and now here Dean is, sitting upright between the closest things he'll have to sons, leaning over and planting soft kisses on each of their heads because while Dean can be a crude and amoral bastard, he's always been good at keeping things close and safe and well-tended. Like the Impala. Like Sam.

And now like these two. Like Alec and Ben, who are blanket-covered lumps under Dean's coarse fingers. Like Alec and Ben, who Sam could probably kill by blinking an eye.

"Sammy," Dean's voice is quiet and low and he's eyeing Sam like he doesn't trust him.

Sam swallows. "I-"

Dean snorts. "It's beddy-bye time, dude. Lay down. You're makin' me nervous."

Sam lies down. Dean follows suit and Sam blindly reaches back and flicks the lamp on the end table off, shrouding the room in darkness. He listens as the three lumps on the floor shift around, listens as a small voice mumbles something Sam can't understand and Dean chuckles for a reason Sam's unaware of and part of him is regretting this decision of putting the couch to use even if it is only five feet away.

He closes his eyes and sees glass break and men fall and children scatter. He tries to tell himself that he's not scary, he's badass like all good uncles should be, but its not sinking in. His body tenses and the couch squeaks when he moves and there's a spring jabbing into his hip and Sam Winchester is one scary motherfucker, even if he doesn't mean to be.

He squeezes his eyes closed and keeps them shut and tries for a few more hours before giving up, getting up, and slinking into the kitchen as quietly as he can, picking the dirty bowls up off the table and cleaning them in the sink. He dries them off with a dish towel and tries to ignore how his hand shakes, how his heart is a jackhammer in his chest, because Sam doesn't panic like this. There is no reason to panic like this. He's at Bobby's with the Impala and a belly full of chili.

He swallows and sucks in a breath, lets it out, falls into one of the kitchen chairs. He needs to stop freaking out. Freaking out never helps anything and Sam's not sure that there's anything to be helped, anyway. This thing…this thing's been inside of him since he was six months old. A drop of blood that killed his mother, destroyed his father, and wrecked his brother's future.

A tear escapes his eye. Sam lets it fall. He needs to settle down. He needs to think this thing through because it's not about what was. It's about what is. It's about what will be.

There's a spoon in the center of the table that he missed before and he reaches for it, holds it by its handle, holds it up to his face. A spoon.

_I can't turn it on and off, Dean_.

He'd said that after the first time it had ever happened, with the cabinet, with the gun, with the vision of a bullet going through his brother's head. He can't turn it on and off.

He stares at the spoon.

He can't, but he should. He should try. If he tries, maybe he'll find that he can. If he tries and succeeds, if he controls it…he won't have to worry anymore. He can use it when he needs it and forget about it the rest of the time.

He stares at the spoon.


	24. Pancakes & Guns

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Twenty-Four - Pancakes & Guns_

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* * *

_

The voices wake Ben up. They're loud, but they're trying to be quiet, Ben can tell, and they keep shushing each other. Dean's not next to him anymore. The space between Ben and Alec consists of a sheet, abandoned and rumpled and paisley, and Ben peers across the distance into his brother's open green eyes.

"I didn't feel him get up," Alec mumbles. "When did we start sleeping?"

Ben's not sure when they started sleeping. He's not even sure of Alec's question, if his twin is referring to when they started sleeping last night or when they started sleeping in general. He doesn't know the answer to either. He just knows that one night he fell asleep, and he fell asleep for nights upon nights after that, and then he was awake for seven days.

And now, apparently, he's sleeping again.

And waking up to angry voices that aren't as loud as they were a few seconds ago, voices that are quickly diminishing into tense, hushed tones that make Ben's stomach clench in a way he doesn't like at all. He sits up when Alec sits up, watches as his brother twists around to retrieve the big-pawed stuffed dog, watches as Alec places it in that empty space, fusses with it for, in Ben's opinion, an absurdly long time.

The voices are so quiet now they're practically whispers, slicing through the air like knives. If Ben were more human, he wouldn't be able to hear them.

"I'm not fucking saying it again. You're. Not. Using. It. You're not gonna bring this shit to the forefront, Sammy. We're _done_ with that. We're not going back to it. It's over."

"You're not in fucking charge-"

"The fuck I'm not."

"Fuck you, Dean. You had no fucking problem with it when it got us out of…there. You even wanted to use it if I could control it. You _asked _me if I could."

"That was different and I was desperate."

Dean's words are an admission, but they still come out like an attack. They're talking about whatever it is that Sam has in his head, that thing that allows him to throw motor vehicles into fences without so much as touching their exteriors with his eyes. Ben knows this because Sam's eyes were closed when it happened; they were closed and tight, like his arms were around Ben's body.

"I need to be able to control it. If I can't control it, it could hurt someone. It could hurt the kids, Dean. Ignoring it isn't going to make it go away."

Dean doesn't respond with more than a frustrated growl and then he's coming out of the kitchen, into the living room, stopping upon the sight of Alec and Ben. He hasn't gotten dressed yet – he's still in his T-shirt and boxers and his hair is still disheveled from slumber. His face is softening, but he's still angry and tense, Ben can feel it, it's hitting him hard and quick and cold like the snow hit the windshield yesterday and it makes him feel so confused because Dean's hand is warm brushing first over Ben's head, then over Alec's.

"Who wants pancakes?" Dean asks in a voice full of forced cheer. "I bet Bobby has some Bisquick laying around here somewhere…"

"I can't eat any pancakes," Alec replies, picking at the top of his toy's head with a nervous finger. He keeps his eyes lowered to this same digit, refuses to look up at Dean. "My stomach hurts."

"Your stomach hurts?" Dean's brow furrows in concern as reaches his hand out towards Alec's forehead. Alec jerks away. Dean freezes with his hand in mid-air, lets it drop abruptly back down to his side. Hurt disappears from his face as soon as it arrives, leaving behind a concrete mask of stoicism. "Are you sick?" Alec shakes his head, jerks away again when Dean makes another attempt to feel it. Dean lets out a frustrated breath, says, "C'mon, kitten. I can't make it better if you don't-"

"M'not sick. M'traumatized."

Ben watches Dean's neck, watches the laryngeal prominence go up and down in what seems like slow motion as the man swallows. Dean's not good at sounding delicate, but sometimes, like now, he tries. "I know, buddy. I wish…m'sorry. Those bastards fucked us up good. I…we're gonna get through it, but you still gotta eat."

A chill and an ache. That's all Ben feels. Everything else is hollow, empty, gone. Fucked up. Those bastards fucked them all up and he just wants to repress it, wants to shut his eyes and his mind and never think about it again, never remember it again.

Alec visibly shudders before he finally looks up at Dean with hard eyes. "M'not talking about…that. I'm talking about you."

Dean's eyebrows jump up in what, if they hadn't just stumbled over recent memory, salted their still open wounds, would be comical surprise. "Me? What'd I do?"

"You and Uncle Sam decided to have a _lover's quarrel_-"

"_Dude_," Dean's quick to protest.

"Lover's spat, whatever."

"M'not in the mood, Alec. Try again."

"_Heated argument_ within our hearing range. M'traumatized. I'm going to grow up and have horrific interpersonal relationships, possibly physically or emotionally abusive in nature. Dr. Phil said so."

"Dr. Phil's still on air?"

"He was a few months ago," Alec replies, before looking away and wrapping his arms over his abdomen. "My stomach hurts."

Ben blinks and swallows, picks the stuffed dog up so he can shift closer to his twin. This isn't like Alec. This isn't like Alec at all, but it seems genuine, and Ben completely understands it. The voices made _his_ stomach twist up all funny and terrible, too. He gets close enough so that their shoulders are touching, places Alec II in front of his distraught namesake.

Dean's face is a picture of nerves and guilt as he kneels down in front of them, asks in a low, earnest voice, "How do I make it better?" Alec doesn't respond, doesn't look up, and Dean places a big hand on the small knee, shakes it slightly, repeats, "Kitten, how do I make it better?"

"M'want you to hug Sam," Alec mumbles. Ben hears it clearly, he's right here, right next to his brother and he hears it, and something untwists a bit inside of him because it's a funny thought, Dean hugging Sam. He's never seen this happen before. They bicker and sometimes they touch, but they never hug.

"Huh? I didn't hear you, kiddo. What'd you say?"

"I want you to hug Uncle Sammy," Alec repeats and this time the words are distinct. They seem to hit Dean like rounds of rock salt.

"What? No. No way-"

Alec lifts his face then, cheeks slick with tears streaming like rivers, and he looks at Dean with flooding eyes for just a moment, bites his lip, and looks back down at the floor.

Dean grits his teeth first, rolls his eyes second. He closes them after that and then he looks at Alec again. Alec's breaths are hitching now, and there are small sniffles, and Dean's falling apart before Ben's eyes.

"Alec? Alec, sweetheart-"

"M'stomach hurts," Alec croaks. "Dad, m'stomach hurts."

Alec doesn't have trouble using the name. Ben's in knots just hearing it, but it slips out of Alec's mouth like it's been on his tongue since the day he was born. How does he do that? How can he do that? It's not…they don't…_Don't call me that_. Dean was cold and disappointed and Ben said the wrong thing and he can't…he won't do it again, it won't happen again, Dean won't look at him like that again. Ben can't…he won't.

"Okay. Alec, don't cry, okay? I'll…Sam!" Dean raises his voice as he calls for his brother. Sam comes out of the kitchen huffing and scowling, and then softening, because Alec's looking at him like he looked at Dean, still with the tears, and Sam's asking what's wrong, what happened, why-

"You have to hug," Alec tearfully informs him.

"You want a hug?" Sam's confused and holding his arms out as Alec shakes his head. "You…_don't_ want a hug?"

"You have to hug _Dean_."

"What? No. No way-"

"That's what I said," Dean grumbles, getting to his feet. He sucks in a deep breath, lets it out slowly, rolls his neck around like he's trying to get a crick out of it. Then he opens his arms, gestures to Sam with waggling fingers. Sam responds with a glare. "Stop being a douchebag, Sammy. Kid's stomach hurts."

"It's an emotional response to a tense environment," Alec sniffles, and Ben feels his brother's weight heavy against him. "I can try to quell it, if you want. I've been doin' that for years…"

"No." The synchronized response is instant and Sam shifts and swallows before edging slowly forward into Dean's arms, wrapping his own long appendages around his brother's solid frame. The embrace is stiff and uncomfortable and Ben watches it, mesmerized. He remembers how the guards used to take him to the medical ward for healing tests, how these tests would involve having a finger or an arm or a leg broken, and the nurse would tell him to just breathe through it. Sam and Dean look like they're taking this same advice, breathing in and out, like this is painful, but it'll be over soon, please God, let it be over soon.

"You're not doing it like you _mean_ it," Alec says sadly.

Sam clears his throat uneasily and Dean grunts, but they both relax somewhat, arms visibly tightening, chins settling onto broad shoulders. They're still in this position a moment later when Ben feels his brother's elbow nudge him in the ribs, feels Alec's breath against his ear, and the cheerful whisper of, "S'like I'm their god."

Ben blinks and wonders, again, how Alec does it. The tears are gone, replaced by a quirked lip, but Ben doesn't buy it. Alec was in pain, he said he was, and he was quiet when he woke up. Quiet and nervous and afraid like Ben, who didn't vocalize his own hurt, but knows it was real. He can still feel it.

Sam and Dean finally pull away from each other. Their arms drop at their sides and then they start to twitch, shifting their shoulders awkwardly, faces set in frowns that are trying not to be frowns as they dart their eyes to the floor.

"How's the stomach, kitten?" Dean lifts his gaze as he addresses Alec, who's face is a picture of mirth, though his cheeks are still shiny and damp from tears. Dean's mouth falls slack, his gentle expression turning stiff as he realizes he's been had.

Sam doesn't look too amused, either. He's crossing his arms and his eyes are narrowing and he's getting that look about him that reminds Ben of a television show they once watched a long time ago. It involved a frustrated housewife and a petulant child, and while Ben is aware that these two things can be construed as opposing forces, Sam somehow manages to come across as a fine mixture of both.

"Cute," Dean says, even though he clearly doesn't find it cute at all.

Alec's smirk turns into a grin, and he starts casually examining his fingernails like he's considering the dirt caught beneath them. "It was, wasn't it?"

Apparently it wasn't and hugs don't solve everything. Sam's looking at Alec like he's going to kill him and Dean's not looking at Sam at all. They're still quietly fuming, still trying to calm down. Ben doesn't like it. He can feel the distance between them and it seems to be growing with every second, the hostility like a tension rod pushing them apart.

"Benny?" Dean's hand is on Ben's shoulder. Ben doesn't remember seeing him move. "What's up, kid? You haven't said a word all morning."

"M'sorry." Ben needs to see things move. He needs to see how they get from A to B, because otherwise he might be seeing things that aren't there. Ben doesn't want to see things that aren't there.

"Don't be sorry. You want pancakes?"

"Is Alec in trouble?" Trouble. Ben didn't know it was on his mind until the word came out of his mouth and now he's hiding his hands underneath the blanket because they're shaking a little. He needs to be good. He needs to be good for Dean. _Are you being good for Dean?_

"'Course m'not in trouble," Alec snorts, even as Sam's leaning down and guiding him to his feet by his elbow. "Where're we going?"

"Study," Sam replies tersely.

"What for?"

"A talk about using tears to manipulate family members."

"Oh. Well, can I put on some pants first? This sounds like a conversation that requires some pants."

Ben watches as Sam drags Alec away. He feels Dean drop down beside him, feels the neglected bear shoved into his lap and a warm palm brush across the top of his head.

"He have a name yet?"

Ben wants to reply, he does, but the simple answer won't come out of his mouth. Instead he says, "Alec…Alec wasn't really manipulating you. He was sad…he just…he feels like he has to make it look like a farce."

"I know how he operates, kid."

"He doesn't…Sam-"

"I hate to admit it, but Sam knows how he operates, too. Don't worry about your brother, dude. The touchy-feely talk is going to be far worse than the scolding." Dean taps the top of the bear's head, repeats, "He have a name, yet?"

The bear doesn't have a name. It doesn't really need a name, it's just some cotton inside of some fabric existing in this form so Ben can cling to it when he needs to. Ben always needs to cling to something. That's part of his problem.

"You want me to give him a name?"

Dean wants the bear to have a name just like Alec wanted the bear to have a name. Ben doesn't understand this desire to treat inanimate objects as if they're people…well, other than the car, of course, she's special. But this…this is just fuzz and fabric, and the only thing Ben sees in it is the man who gave it to him.

…Which isn't to say he wants Alec asking him about John Bonham all day and night long so he shakes his head no. No, he doesn't want Dean naming his bear.

Dean smirks and Ben feels a hand on the back of his neck, on his barcode. He shivers under the coarse fingers and then settles. "If you say so. It would have been incredible, though, you realize. None of that Yogi or Boo Boo crap." The hand moves down, smoothes over the back of Ben's T-shirt before patting him once. "We need pancakes. You wanna help me make 'em? Bobby's already up and outside. We should probably do him the courtesy of makin' breakfast. It'll soften the blow of our traumatic events."

Ben nods and accepts the hand that pulls him upwards.

They make a mess in the kitchen. Ben's never cooked before and Dean seems like he hasn't cooked in a good long while. Bobby comes inside about ten minutes after they've started, stomping the snow off his boots and scowling at the Bisquick and milk spilled on his counter and floors, fighting a smile when he sees the powdery mix gracing their noses and cheeks.

"We're makin' you breakfast, Bobby," Ben says as he attempts to wedge a spatula under a pancake. He's not usually one for stating the obvious, but he wasn't so friendly the last time he was here, and Bobby…there are times when Bobby looks at Sam and Dean like Sam and Dean look at Alec and Ben. It's in good form to be friendly to someone like that.

"I see that," Bobby replies, moving over to the coffeemaker and taking a mug out of the cabinet above it. "And m'puttin' you in charge of supervising your daddy as he cleans up this mess."

Ben's throat goes dry. He almost screws up his pancake-flipping because his hand jerks and shakes, but he manages to get it back on the skillet unscathed. He doesn't look at Dean. Dean's not…Dean doesn't…Dean needs Ben to remember, needs him to remember something about fathers. _I need you to remember that I'm not yours. _Not his, not Ben's, never Ben's. Alec's, sure. Alec's when he's got tears streaming down his face and claims of a stomach that hurts, but not Ben's. Never Ben's.

A hand falls on his shoulder, squeezes lightly. Ben chances a glance up at Dean's grinning face and winking eye.

"S'okay, Bobby. I'm sure Ben'll crack the whip just fine. Won't you, kid?" Ben doesn't trust himself to speak, so he nods. The hand squeezes again before Dean points at another pancake, says, "I think this one's good to go," then beams as Ben gracefully wields the spatula.

"Do they look okay?" he asks quietly.

"They look perfect, dude." Dean tells him. "Like flat Bisquicky rounds of heaven."

Ben swallows and smiles. The pancakes look perfect and for the moment, at least, his own stomach feels just a bit better.

* * *

"Can I help?"

Alec's fingers are itching. Bobby's in the midst of loading all of his guns, face set in determination as he inserts rounds into the chamber of a particularly vicious-looking Smith & Wesson.

"I seem to remember Dean saying he didn't want you touching any guns," Bobby replies, absently rubbing a sleeve over the rifle's exterior before setting it aside. The tease.

"But Dean's not here," Alec wheedles. It's true. Dean's outside with Ben, they're cleaning out the Impala, checking her over, making sure she hasn't been tampered with. Sam went back into the study after breakfast and he hasn't been seen since. Sam is an enigma, Alec's decided. "S'just you and me, Bobby, ol' boy."

It is. It's just them, but nothing seems to be going right for Alec today. The glare Bobby levels at him is enough to make him take a step back. "I meant, uh, sir?"

Bobby snorts, but his lips twitch as he returns his attention to the handgun magazine he just picked up. "Damn straight you meant sir."

Alec swallows and shifts on his feet before regaining his courage, stepping over to Bobby and putting a hand on the man's knee. "Please?"

"Didn't you just get a talking-to about being manipulative, son?"

He did. It was an unbearable thirty minutes long. Alec almost snickers thinking of the way Sam pointed to the rickety old chair in the study, told him to sit down because Sam was going to kill him – apparently five-minute lectures about putting people in uncomfortable situations count as familial homicide these days. Five minutes. That's how long the supposed killing was. The real killing was twenty-five minutes of that touchy-feely crap. Alec hates that motherfucking touchy-feely crap. Alec hates walking into pancake-filled rooms with eyes that are puffy and a nose that refuses to stay dry. Pancakes are supposed to be happy times.

"That shit bounces right off of me," Alec says now. "It's not my fault. It's part of my genetic make-up."

"You better start learnin' to listen then," Bobby tells him. "You're livin' a dangerous life, kid."

"I laugh in the face of danger."

"You shouldn't," Bobby says as he slides the now-loaded magazine into a semi-automatic. "Danger's not funny."

Alec knows that. He knows it's not funny, the things Sam and Dean told Bobby this morning. Alec knows because he was there and he had it worse than both of them and his brother's face was pale and his hands were shaking and Alec had to grab them, had to steady them, because Ben couldn't listen to it. He knows it's not funny, the reason Bobby's loading all of these guns.

"You can't just shoot them away, you know." He doesn't realize he's spoken until he notices how Bobby's looking at him, with concerned eyes and a frowning mouth, how Bobby's setting the gun carefully on the table. "They just keep coming. They won't stop."

Bobby puts a tentative hand on his shoulder. Alec flinches like a spooked horse. He's not used to Bobby, yet. It's been a long time since those two days without Sam and Dean, but Bobby's hand is sturdy and warm, and he doesn't move it, doesn't speak until Alec relaxes under his touch. "That can be said about a lot of things, boy."

"It's scarier when they're corporeal."

Bobby smirks. "Only met spirits, haven't you? Demons are corporeal. Trust me, humans are easier to kill."

They are. Alec knows this. Alec knows humans are easy to kill. You just shove 'em on their knees and pull the trigger. They fall down and their blood pools in the grass, spreads and edges until it's almost touching your feet and you're not…you can't move and you can't breath and there's a gun heavy in your hand and the knowledge that you didn't use it to kill this man and you didn't use it to save him.

"Alec? You okay, son?" Alec hears Bobby's voice. "Kid, _breathe_."

Alec didn't know he wasn't breathing, but he breathes. He breathes in and out, large, shuddering breaths, because that's what Bobby's instructing him to do and Bobby's awesome, so he must be right in saying that Alec should breathe.

"Alec…"

There are tears. Alec's so fucking sick of his own goddamn tears. "M'wanna help load the guns."

"I think maybe you should have a lie-down."

"_I wanna help load the guns_." It comes out of him a snarl this time, and his breath hitches and his throat hurts and Bobby's hand is still there, still on his shoulder, and it's squeezing and Bobby's voice is low and trying its best to be gentle.

"Your daddy doesn't want you-"

"I want to. M'nine or ten and I've been able to load a gun for as long as I can remember. Why can't I load one now?"

"'Cause you shouldn't have to." Bobby's mouth doesn't move. He doesn't say these words. He doesn't say them because Dean says them, standing in the threshold of the kitchen with a pale-faced Ben at his side and then he's traversing the floor in his heavy boots, and kneeling down in jeans shredded at the knees. He brushes a cold, dry thumb across Alec's sticky cheek, asks quietly if the tears are real.

"They're not," Alec says. "They're stupid and imaginary and I hate them." That's not what he wanted to say. He wanted to say something witty, something that would make Dean smile and believe him when he said they weren't real, that he was just having them on again, that Alec doesn't cry, Alec doesn't do waterworks. That's Ben's shtick. "They're not real," Alec insists, even as his throat thickens with mucus and his eyes continue to secrete fluid. "This is all just a really hilarious show."

Dean nods, and Alec feels big hands on his hips pulling him forward, guiding him to the man's chest. "I see that, kitten. You deserve an Emmy. And a prime time sitcom."

"Emmy first?" Alec's shaking like a madman and trying to get images of blood out of his head, but Dean's got him up now, is waiting patiently as Alec situates trembling limbs around his neck and waist.

"Emmy first," Dean agrees, and Alec is glad when he doesn't ask what happened, just carries him to the living room and lays him down on the still made-up couch, brushes a hand over his head. Alec snatches the hand up before it can leave, pulls Dean hard enough towards him to make him stumble and catch himself on the sofa's backrest. "Alec?"

"Lay down with me." It's a demand and Alec hates himself for it. He's not a baby. Genetically-engineered killing machines aren't babies.

"I can't fit on there with you, sweetheart. You want your brother?"

"I want you."

"M'not going anywhere."

Dean doesn't go anywhere. He sits on the floor and leans against the front of the armrest, reaches his hand back so Alec can touch it if he needs to.

Alec needs to.

He twines two fingers around Dean's pinky, feels the cold side of the hunter's ring settle against his skin. The pillow under his head smells vaguely of Sam, and Alec closes his eyes and tries to breathe through the onset of hiccups as his brother's weight depresses the couch. Ben is warm against him and Dean doesn't move. Daylight is still peeking through the windows, but Alec tries to fall asleep again, tries to forget the blood in the grass, and the fact that they can't just shoot them all away.


	25. Marks

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Twenty-Five - Marks_

_

* * *

_

The snow is melting. Dean takes a long pull on his beer and watches from the kitchen window as the white accumulation drops from the tree branches. He kind of wants to be outside, wants to hear it falling from those bare wooden arms, its deaf thud as it hits the ground. He wants to hear the sound of it dying under his feet.

He wants to kill it.

Dean hates the fucking snow. He hates the way it reminds him of being nine years old, of Sam in mittens and puffy coats and cheeks red with fever because Dean agreed they could stay outside long enough to finish that bastard snowman, the one lacking in eyes and buttons and a top hat. It had a carrot, though. Dean stole it from the supermarket down the street and the lady cashier chased him halfway down the block screaming about how she was going to call his mother, the heartless bitch.

Dean remembers his gloves, the ones with holes at the tips of his fingers. He remembers how numb his skin was, but how he kept going, kept helping Sammy roll that fucking snow into something big and round and perfect. And Sam…Sam was so small, and his tongue would stick out of the corner of his mouth as he judged whether or not their work was lopsided, whether it was adequate anatomy for a three-tiered man constructed by Winchester hands.

_Daddy says if you're going to do something, don't half-ass it._

Dad did say that. Dad, who wasn't there when the motel manager, drunk off his ass, chased them back into their room because where did they even think they were? That was his goddamn parking lot, you stupid kids. You stupid fucking kids.

Sammy was cold and a bit agitated afterwards, but generally happy as Dean drew him a hot bath. He sat on the lid of the toilet rubbing his frozen fingers together while the kid hummed and went about cleaning himself, sat patiently until it was time to wash his brother's hair. Dean always washed Sam's hair. Never got soap in his eyes, either, and when he came down with that fever, Dean was the one pushing the sweaty tresses from his forehead – and when he started sneezing, Dean was the one with a fistful of tissues, helping him wipe the snot from his stupid little nose.

And when Dad came home, Dean was the one who got pulled aside for a stern reprimand about judging weather conditions and taking his little brother outside of the motel room, and you know better than to go outside of the motel room, don't you, Dean? He did. He does. He can still feel Dad's rough fingers gripping his arm just a little too-tight, can still feel the jostle of the are-you-listening-to-me shake, still hear Sammy's little voice asking for Daddy.

_I don't care what he wanted to do, Dean. I put you in charge and you damn well better learn when to start saying no._

Dean knows when to say it now. _No, Sam, not without backup. No, Brandy Alexander, that was your last one, I'm cutting you off. No…No, you can't use those freaky mind powers connected to that demon that killed our parents and fucked our lives to shit._

"Dean?" The voice maybe clears Dean's waist, it's so quiet. He's kind of surprised to find himself still here, still staring out this window, seeing another clump of snow fall from another dead branch. A throat clears behind him, and the voice tries again. "Dean?" Dean turns around and the moment's not gone. He needs to stop remembering shit, he does, because Benny isn't a decades old ghost even though he looks like one, small and nervous and desperate to please. "Um…d'you think Alec and I could go outside?"

Dean hesitates even though he tries not to and Ben's face falls before creasing in worry. The kid opens his mouth. He's about to start stammering out apologies for asking, but Dean's quick, cuts him off with, "Sure thing, kiddo" before taking another swig of his beer. He sets the now-empty bottle on the countertop, claps his boy on the shoulder. "I was gonna go out there, anyway. Bobby's puttin' up some new surveillance cameras."

"Okay."

"You alright?" Kid's not even looking at him anymore. He's looking past Dean's left thigh at the kitchen cabinet, fidgeting all nervous-like, and it makes Dean feel like someone just impaled his chest with a huge fucking tree stump only to leave it there while Dean continued to breathe. Ben's so scared of him now. No matter what he does or says, that fear's still there.

"M'fine."

"You sure?"

Ben's eyes lower to the floor. His teeth dig into his lip. "Alec's being…bad."

Bad. The word comes out barely above a whisper and Dean's suddenly thrown back into that day surrounded by stone-faced children, pale as apparitions, their will demolished simply by the fear of being "in trouble." Dean doesn't want to know what "in trouble" means, and he doesn't want to know what "bad" means, either. Three-letter words should never be this heavy.

He places a light hand on Ben's shoulder to guide him out of the kitchen. "Yeah? What's the little hellraiser doing now?" The question dies on his lips as soon as he steps into the living room, as soon as he sees Sam's big hand seizing Alec's tiny arm, a furious expression etched into his little brother's tired face as he leans down ridiculously far to lash the kid's ears with words that are rough and low.

"Sammy?"

Alec turns around and meets Dean's gaze, a fleet of emotions passing through his eyes as he tries to wedge his arm out of Sam's hold. Sam yanks him back and shakes him a little and that's enough. Dean's seen enough.

"_Sam_."

Seeing isn't having, though, and Dean wonders how long this has been going on because Alec's apparently _had_ enough. He wrenches his arm out of Sam's grip, pushes the guy hard enough away to land him on his ass. Dean waits for the kid to come to him after the fact, but Alec just stands frozen with his eyes on his fallen uncle, panting like he's been running for miles, and Sam's breathing equally as hard, eyes not leaving Alec's unwavering stare.

Nobody moves. The room's a statue that breaks when snow falls from the roof right outside the window. Dean hates the snow. Sometimes he hates his sibling, too. It's always been about Sam, what Sam wants and needs, and the conflicts Sam creates.

"Alec." It's not a question, but it's not a reprimand, either, even though Alec seems to think it is.

"Uncle Sam's a humorless prick," the boy mutters, hurt overpowering the aggression of his words. "I was just tryin' to make him laugh."

"C'mere." Alec moves a step towards Dean, but his eyes linger on Sam, who's finally getting to his feet. Dean scrubs a frustrated hand over his face, growls, "_Alec_. Come here." The kid heaves a sigh and stomps over, stands at Dean's toes, keeping his eyes straight and level with Dean's midsection. Ben's still at his side, quiet and motionless, and Dean looks down at him, notes how the kid's looking at the floor again.

"Benny, you wanna go get your coats? Hang out in the kitchen for a bit. Alec and I'll be ready in a sec, okay?"

Ben nods and drifts away, out of sight, head still lowered. Dean will deal with that later. Again. He'll try. He'll fix this. He'll try to fix everything, like he always does.

He picks up Alec's arm, dances his fingers over the pale skin, trails the pad of his thumb over the fading red fingertip-shaped imprints left by Sam's hand. "Kitten?" Dean's kind of surprised he can't feel the boy's eyes burning into his navel. "Look at me, kid." Alec's head doesn't move. Dean draws in a breath and lets the arm drop, places both hands on Alec's shoulders. He pushes him far enough away to see the sullen eyes, doesn't remove his touch as he leans down. "Did he hurt you?"

"_Dean_." Sam's offended. Dean flicks a look up at him, at his crossed arms and his scowl. "I would _never_-"

"Do I look like I'm talkin' to you?" He keeps his eyes pinned on his brother long enough to see the teeth grit and the fists clench. Then he looks back down at Alec. "Kitten? Answer."

"No, he didn't hurt me." Alec's tone is steady and strong, and his back is still straight as an arrow, but he's tense as fuck. Little boy bravado. Dean knows it quite well.

"Looks like he had you by the arm pretty tight. Are you sure?"

"What do you mean 'looks like'?" Sam demands, and this time hostility is giving way to something more akin to worry. "Did I leave marks?" Dean lifts his head again to stare at him. He's learned over the past twenty-six years that sometimes just staring at Sam is enough to convince him of whatever he needs convincing. Sometimes it's even enough to break him. "Shit…shit. Alec? Alec, did I-"

"He didn't hurt me." Alec sets his volume at just the right amount to overtake Sam's increasing panic. "It doesn't hurt. It didn't hurt."

"Then why did you push him?"

"Dean-"

"Sam, shut up. Alec?" Kid won't look at him. Dean's starting to wonder if there's something wrong with his face. He hopes not, even though there's no reason to hope. It's impossible. He looked in the mirror this morning and aesthetic perfection was still looking back at him. "Alec?" No dice. Dean's sick of this shit and it's too much effort, anyway. Kid can look at the floor. "If you don't think he's going to hurt you, you don't hurt him. You show him that respect even when he's being a douche, understand?"

More snow drops from the roof. It hits and slides down the window in its fall.

Alec doesn't say a word.

"_Alec_."

Kid's will is fading fast. He's scuffing his toe against the wooden floor, breathing quick and shallow, and then he's pushing his way past Dean's hands, burying his face into Dean's T-shirt, and mumbling words that Dean can't quite make out. "Kitten?"

"Why does everything suck so hard? Why is everyone yelling at me?"

Alec never asks questions like these. Then again, Alec doesn't cry either, but yesterday he was a rainstorm. Dean gets that. There's been a build-up of the worst kind of shit, and it's consuming them all whole. Sometimes it gets too big to contain.

"Was I yellin' at you?" Maybe it's a nod, maybe not, but there's movement against his stomach. He's unaware at first of his palm running up and down the boy's spine, but then he feels Alec go boneless, limp, melted into his abdomen like he just sprung up from there one day, like a blade of grass from the earth. "M'sorry, baby."

"We're cool," Alec mumbles. "I won't push Uncle Sam again. Even if he's being a douche."

"That's my boy."

He is. He's Dean's boy, Dean's resilient boy who sucks it up and pulls away, shakes it off, even backtracks to Sam, who's looking all guilty as fuck and spewing apologies and tenderly examining the arm he was just squeezing in a hand wrapped like steel.

"You were a dick," Alec agrees, peeling Sam's now-gentle fingers away. "S'okay, though. I think maybe you just need to get some shut-eye. Preferably on the naughty bed."

Sam barks a silent laugh as Alec walks into his arms. The hug is quick, but firm, and the boy trots back to Dean looking significantly happier. Dean grazes his lips over the kid's temple, pushes him towards the kitchen, orders, "Go outside with your brother. Let Bobby know you're out there." Alec disappears and Dean waits, listens to the rustling of arms being stuffed into coats, to the creak of the door opening and then shutting closed.

Sam's looking at the floor. Dean really wants to know what it is about the fucking floor.

"Just so you know, I'm about five seconds away from completely losing my shit on you."

Sam's eyes seem to skitter across the wood, to Dean's feet. They inch up at an excruciatingly slow pace, but Dean's somewhat glad that this one, at least, seems to have mastered the art of looking at him.

"Dean, I-"

"Tell me what he was doing that was just so fucking bad."

Sam obviously can't. He pinches the bridge of his nose, swipes at the corner of an exhausted eye before shaking his head. "He wasn't…he just…I told him I needed time alone and he just kept…He wouldn't leave me _alone_, Dean. I lost my temper. I shouldn't have."

"Damn straight, you shouldn't have. Kid's been through Hell in case you've forgotten."

"I know. I was there."

"_We_ were there. For seven days. You know how long we weren't there, Sam? _Nine years_. Nine fucking years. Their entire fucking lives, treated like machines that needed to snap to on command. And what do you do when he doesn't listen to you?" Sam's staring at someplace behind Dean's left ear now, rubbing an absent hand over his plaid-covered arm. He's ashen-faced and not answering the question anytime soon. "You give him a reason to be afraid."

"I didn't-"

"You grabbed him. You fucking _grabbed_ him and made him feel like he had to push you away. If I see you pulling something like that again without reason I will kick your ass so fucking hard, they'll hear you wailing in Canada." Sam's eyes are tired and now they're wet, too. Dean curses under his breath and looks away long enough to fortify his walls – it's unfortunate, but sometimes (most of the time, but Dean tries not to admit this to himself) when he looks at Sam, he still sees that snot-nosed little boy, the one with his eyes closed and trusting as Dean washed the dirt from his hair. "Do you understand me? Have I made myself clear?"

"Dean, I wouldn't-"

"Answer the question, Sam."

"I…Dean, of course, I understand. I didn't mean it. I would never. You know I would never…right?" Sam looks away and scrapes a hasty finger over a damp cheekbone.

Dean sighs into a frustrated hand because Jesus Christ, when was the last time Sam slept? Kid's been in the study since they've gotten here, practically, trying to bend spoons or what have you and Dean's barely said shit, has just left Sam to his freaky little devices. To his credit, though, it's hard looking after three of them.

"Dean?" Sam's all earnest eyes now, reiterating the question Dean never answered. "You know I'd never mean to hurt him, right?"

The guilt is like spilled milk all over his brother's face, and Dean has to bite into the side of his cheek to keep from saying something he doesn't mean. He knows this is the reason Sam's been doing this, knows the last thing Sam wants to do is hurt anyone.

"Yeah, Sammy. I know." The relief is blatant. Dean's glad for it, but he knows it won't stay there. "I want you to cut this shit out and get some sleep. You're no good to any of us like this. And when you wake up, I expect to see you. This disappearing act is over, dude."

Dean looks the way he does because his parents looked the way they did. He's always taken more after his father than his mother, though. Sam's the opposite. Sam doesn't look like Dad or Dean, but he has the girly hair and the blue eyes and that calming manner in which he speaks. Sometimes. Not now - not now, when he's eyeing Dean like an enraged bull, his cheeks heating with ire, his big hands clenching into the tightest of fists. That's not Mom, not to Dean's recollection. That's all Dad.

"You need to stop treating me like this. Like I'm some sort of dumb fucking kid."

"Then I guess you need to stop acting like one."

Yeah, Dean's learned when and how to say 'no' over the past twenty-six years. He's also aware that it doesn't always go over well - like now. Like now when he's saying no, no, no fucking _no, _youlittle fucking bastard. Because Dean's in charge, Dean's responsible, Dean's not going to let Sam fuck himself or anyone else over. Dean's going to make sure Sam's alright, that Sam will always be alright. Sam has to always be alright or Dean will lose his fucking mind.

Not that he's not losing it now. Little brothers should never be able to muster the physical strength to pin big brothers against the wall. It's wrong. It's unnatural and _wrong_. It's about as wrong as it gets - even more wrong than when the big brother hits the little brother, socks him across the jaw, sucker punches him in the ribs while he's still dazed from lack of sleep and that first staggering blow.

"I'll let you hit me back later," Dean says. Sam's hunched over and gripping his side, panting. Dean feels horrible, he does, but he's not going to admit to it more than he already has, he's not going to apologize beyond helping Sam to the couch, getting him situated so he can sleep. Sam's eyes are dark as he glares up at Dean through a mess of bangs. "Sam? C'mon...I'm..." No. Not going to apologize. "You just need some sleep."

He takes a step forward which is apparently a mistake. Leaving Sam to his own devices for these past couple of days was also a mistake, a big, fucking mistake because there's a snow-globe on Bobby's mantelpiece. It doesn't look like anything special - just your old run-of-the mill touristy shit from God-knows-where, something inherently harmless until it's flying at your head so fast you just barely manage to dodge it. Harmless, until it's smashing to bits against the wall, littering the floor with water and glitter and glass.

"Oh, fuck me." Dean's not sure if he's pissed off or terrified or both, but he does know that this is shaping up to be a bad fucking day.

"Yeah, fuck you," Sam agrees. He's trying to pass this off as deliberate, but Dean's pretty damn sure it wasn't at all. Sam looks beaten and scared and exhausted as fuck, and Dean can't take anymore of this, not right now.

"Get some sleep, will you? And if you can't, at least calm the fuck down." He should leave it there, he really should. But he can't. "You've already freaked the kids out enough today and I don't want random heavy shit flying at their heads just because you're a sleep-deprived little bitch who can't control his temper."

Sam's face is naked and the pain is raw. Dean feels vaguely satisfied as he spins on his heel and heads for the door.

"I wouldn't-" Sam tries after him.

"Not on purpose, you wouldn't." Dean doesn't even turn around as he says the words. "Nap time, Sammy. M'sorry I don't have one of those awesome blue mats and a tiny carton of milk for you, but you're just going to have to deal, I guess."

Sam's just going to have to deal. Dean's already out the door, outside where the snow is melting over thin layers of ice, which, in turn, is melting into the dirt and turning that dirt into mud. Dean's not entirely sure why he hates the snow so much when his real problem is with what it leaves behind - sick little boys and angry voices and messes that are hard to clean up.

* * *

The marks disappeared from Alec's arm within minutes, but Ben still sees them. He sees them through Alec's coat, through Alec's playful smile and shining eyes and insistence that it's alright, that everything's fine now. He sees it from forty feet in the air with his legs dangling off either side of this tree branch he's been straddling for the past half hour or so.

"Have you named your bear, yet?"

And he's really kind of sick of this question.

"No."

The snow is cold and it stings a little as it hits his cheek. "_Alec_..." Alec's in the same position on the opposite branch, swinging his legs and grinning, nose and cheeks red and glowing from the biting air.

"You're gonna give him a complex if you don't give him a name."

"He's not alive."

"Neither is the Impala."

"The Impala doesn't have a name either," Ben points out. It's true - the Impala only has throwaway names, like "baby" and "sweetheart" and "my girl." Ben has these names, too, if you substitute girl with boy.

"That's because the Impala transcends names. Your bear doesn't have such power."

"Your logic fails and I don't understand why you still expect me to answer this question."

"Maybe I'm a good brother."

Ben doesn't know what that has to do with anything, but Alec's lifting his hand from the branch and unconsciously rubbing at that same sleeved arm Ben swears he can see through. "I never said you weren't."

Alec smirks. "I know you appreciate me. That's not even a question, really. S'not about that, Ben."

"What's it about then?"

"You. Thinking about something else. If you're thinking of a name, you're probably not thinking of much else."

"Who says?"

"I say. You think of good names. That takes thought and thought takes preoccupation. You named me, after all. I like to think that took about three years of your life, naming me."

"It took five minutes, Alec."

"Three years of your life." Alec scooches the last bit of snow off the branch with his finger. They both watch it fall to the ground, are quiet afterwards for some time until Alec decides to talk again. Alec always decides to talk again. "I really think you need to think about something else. Something other than the things you think about."

"You don't know what I think about."

Alec gnaws on his lip, looks past Ben, to the salvage yard, to the rusted and wrecked cars that are almost snow-free now. Ben watches him, watches the careful manner in which Alec doesn't meet his eyes, watches Alec's lips move as the words come flooding out of his mouth. "You think about bad things."

Bad things. Ben doesn't think about bad things. Ben's good, he is, he's been trying so hard to be good and he hasn't taken anything and he hasn't killed anyone and he's not even a people stealer anymore, Alec hasn't called him that since that one time when Ben couldn't help himself, when everything was so new and there and Ben was still so empty and alone and aching for someone to talk to him, to touch him without breaking him. And Dean was there, back when Dean was still Ben's, and Ben had Dean's face and his freckles and his hands and Dean looked at Ben like he looked at Alec, like Ben was more than what he was made to be. Ben is good. Ben is good for Dean.

"You're thinking bad things right now," Alec says. "Sometimes I think I can see them. They're like bugs on your face."

Ben remembers the girl in the casket, how Alec looked at her and cringed because she was being eaten by bugs. Alec never wants to be eaten by bugs.

"You're still thinking them. You need to think about something else before they eat you alive."

Alec knows what Ben's thinking because Ben always knows what Alec's thinking. If Alec knows what Ben's thinking, then he knows that Ben's bad. Ben's not bad, though. He's trying so hard not to be bad. "M'not bad."

"'Course you're not," Alec agrees. "You're the good one with an overactive imagination. You just think bad things and they eat you up like bugs. It doesn't make you bad. It's just bad that they make you think you are."

Too many words. Ben used to visualize words as people said them, back when he was trying so hard to improve his penmanship, and this time there's too many words to think about.

"You keep looking at my arm," Alec says. "You keep looking at my arm and you're thinking about it and that's a bad thing."

"Uncle Sam-"

"Uncle Sam is tired."

"You got in trouble."

"It wasn't like it used to be. He wasn't even in a good state of mind, and it's still better than it was there. 'Sides, Dad saved me." Alec snaps a twig from the branch, runs it over the bark. Ben almost gets lost in the grating sound. "Dad saved me and Uncle Sam was sorry. He still thinks we're awesome, I can tell. He's just thinking bad things all the time right now. Like you do."

Dad. It comes out of Alec so easily, that name.

"Dean likes it when we call him Dad, you know. It makes him sad when you don't."

"I can't."

"You can't because you think bad things. You think bad things because they put stuff in our heads, stuff that wasn't there." Alec lets the twig fall from his fingers, lets it drop forty feet to the ground. "It wasn't there, Ben, but you still think it was. This is why you need to think about something else. This is why your bear needs a name."

Ben would reply to this, he would, just the moment he thought of a reply. He can't, though, because Dean's down below, calling for Alec, and then for Ben. For Benny.

Alec smirks and shrugs and Ben watches him as he pulls his legs up onto the branch, stands, then jumps. He lands easily on sneakered feet. Ben watches him, watches the top of Dean's head, listens to the sounds Dean makes and wonders about them because they're not coherent words at all. And then Alec's looking up and calling for him to come down because he's pretty sure Dean's having a stroke or some shit like that. Alec's words, not Ben's.

The air whips at his ears and Ben enjoys the feeling of weightlessness before he, too, lands on his feet, kicking up snow on impact.

Those sounds that Dean's been making are muttered swears and it's only a second before Ben's pulled in by a strong arm, is smothered by a broad shoulder, is told that being outdoors unsupervised is officially against the law and that trees are evil sons of bitches that he's not even allowed to think about again until he's thirty.

"Dude, we're okay," Alec's muffled voice says against Dean's other shoulder. "S'perfectly within our abilities-"

"M'gonna tie a piece of rope to your belt loops and keep hold," Dean cuts him off. "That's how fuckin' serious I am."

"Did you put Uncle Sam on the naughty bed?" Alec's really good at changing the subject.

"We don't have a bed." Dean's really good at following Alec's lead.

"Naughty couch?"

"I'll naughty couch you." Or maybe not. Not that it matters, since Alec is very open about how hilarious he finds this phrasing. Ben pulls away, watches as his brother cracks up to the point where tears are streaming down his face.

"It's not funny," Dean insists, grabbing both of their hands. "You coulda broken your legs."

"No, we couldn't have," Alec says. "And can we please remove the word naughty from our vocabulary? That shit should only be used to describe things you don't think we're old enough to know about yet."

Dean doesn't make any promises. He just drags them back inside, insisting they say goodbye to fresh air and freedom. And trees. Dean keeps saying he better not catch them near a tree until they're forty-five, and yes, he knows he just said thirty, but now it's forty-five and they can flip a coin, 'cause one of them's cutting the rope to the correct length (no longer than five inches), and the other's writing a five-hundred word essay on why trees are not to be trusted.

He helps them out of their coats even though Alec insists they can do it themselves, touches their faces with sweaty palms. Then he pulls them back into his arms, doesn't say anything for the longest time.

Ben's hungry. His stomach rumbles.

"M'gonna make you some grilled cheese." Ben can feel Dean's breath against his head. "You're gonna sit right here while I do it. You're not gonna move."

"Why not?" Alec asks.

"'Cause grilled cheese is awesome and I said so." He pulls them over to the kitchen chairs, watches them sit down and then points a finger in each of their faces, says again, "Don't move."

Grilled cheese is amazing. Dean cuts it diagonally, but he lets Alec and Ben pull it apart, lets them marvel in the way the cheese holds together for as long as possible. They eat it quickly, which doesn't make it any less delicious, though Ben wonders during their collective inhalation why Dean keeps feeling their foreheads, touching their cheeks, and other such practices meant for gauging the temperature of normal children.

Dean doesn't make them cut a piece of rope and he doesn't make them write an anti-tree essay, either. Ben's glad for it. Five hundred words is a lot of bad and trees are mostly good, to his knowledge.

"Can we go climb the tree again?" Alec asks.

"No," Dean says immediately. Then, as an afterthought, "Maybe tomorrow. Under my supervision."

Dean doesn't let them out of his sight the rest of the day. Ben wonders if this is punishment, because it doesn't feel like it. Punishment is supposed to hurt and this doesn't hurt. He even kind of wishes the rope thing had played out. He wonders if that's a bad thing.

It doesn't feel like a bad thing. His face feels smooth and clean and not at all like bugs are eating it.


	26. Want

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Twenty-Six - Want_

_

* * *

_

Sam isn't a ghost. He's sitting on the couch, squeezing the cushion with his fingers and he can feel the roughened fabric against his skin, can remember years and years of sleeping here, breathing in the musty scent of time going by. He remembers when his legs got too long to fit and it felt like it took forever at the time, but it was just an instant, really. Childhood was like a swift cut of a knife, just a passing moment that opened him up and kept him bleeding.

He tried to close the wound. He did, he tried so hard to close it and get away from it, but he couldn't. He can't. It's open and salted and seared by the flames of the fire, that fucking fire, the unyielding adhesive that bound Sam to his brother's arms, that keeps him here still.

But Sam's not a ghost. He's not. Even if they're eternally welded to whatever it is they're haunting, ghosts can disappear. Ghosts can hide and do what they will without anyone seeing or hearing them, because ghosts are sneaky and incorporeal bastards. And Sam may be sneaky, but he's not incorporeal in the least. There's this couch, you see, and he can feel it in every sense of the word, this couch and his jaw, which is still throbbing from Dean's quick fist.

He slept earlier, but he's awake now. It's the dead of night and he's awake and they're asleep on the floor, the three of them with Dean in the middle. Alec's got his nose tucked into Dean's solid side as if he's trying to keep it warm, a limp little arm splayed over the rhythmic chest. Ben's got a fistful of the charcoal T-shirt in his hand, and his eyes are shut and soft now. They were tight before, and his jaw was tense when he was pretending. It took a while, maybe about as long as it took for his legs to grow, but Sam knows now when they're faking it.

They should never have to fake it. They should always be comfortable enough to sleep, should always feel safe enough. Like now. With Dean. As long as Dean's here they'll be fine. Dean is an unshakeable and surrounding presence, sometimes so much so that he makes it hard to breathe.

It's not about that this time, though. It's not. It's not about a need for freedom or a need to get away or the pursuit of a normal life. This isn't like Stanford and Sam's not leaving in hopes of becoming a yuppie lawyer and forgetting this entire sad fucking existence that he's been leading since he was six months old. Stanford was a long time ago, when he was eighteen and stupid and thought he could lose it, thought it wouldn't follow him to wherever he ended up. Now he knows he can never leave it. You can't leave something that's inside of you.

Sam's not being selfish.

He's not.

They should always sleep this way. They should never have to worry about snow globes flying at their heads. They should never have to worry about the guy they once saw fit to call Uncle leaving marks on their arms.

Which is why Sam's getting up from this couch. He feels unsteady on his feet as he takes in their darkened shapes and he wonders if John felt like this all those times after that sometimes-hug or sometimes-hair-ruffle and that always-repetition-of-rules-and-schedule, all those times when he would walk out that door. It's not really walking. Sam knows this even before he's done it. It's not walking, it's stumbling. Sam's going to stumble out that door, just like his dad used to.

And he's going to come back. Just like his dad used to. This isn't forever, this is just...he just needs to find some control, needs to make sure he can keep them safe even from himself and they don't need him right now, anyway. They have Dean. They'll always have Dean, just like Sam will always have Dean. They'll have him even when they don't want him.

He feels like he's walking on ice, like his feet could slip out from under him any moment now and land him on his ass. But they don't. He makes it to his duffel, which is already packed and ready to go. He's reaching to pick it up when he notices Ben's bear leaning against its side, lonely and forgotten.

"_Fuck_," he whispers, and the word's eaten up by the darkness before it reaches the three dozing lumps on the floor. They don't stir. He doesn't want them to stir. He doesn't want them to wake up before he's gone - or before he comes back, when he's better, when he's got a handle on this shit.

But then there's this bear, and the memory of Ben's face when Dean knelt down and gave it to him, that face that showed little in ways of fondness for the gift even though his hands were gripping it like they'd never let it go. Ben needs things to cling to.

_M'I yours?_

Sam needs to give him these things. Ben is his, his and Dean's, and Sam needs to give him these things.

Sam likes to lie to himself. He's totally a ghost, a cold breath in a dark room, feet somehow so light they're floating him over to that pile of Deans on the floor. He doesn't know how he got here, to this space next to this boy where he's kneeling, where he's so cautious about wedging a child's toy under a child's arm, and then he can't even leave it at just that. The blanket's too low, so Sam pulls it up to Ben's shoulders and the kid sighs in his sleep, fist unconsciously clenching and unclenching the cotton of Dean's T-shirt. And Sam can't leave it at just that, either.

He touches the boy's cheek with faint fingers, vaguely hoping that he's leaving marks no one will ever see. Ben's fucked up and Alec's fucked up and Sam's fully aware that there's blood on those tiny hands, but it doesn't change what he sees or feels. Ben is warm and pure and beautiful under Sam's skin, and so is Alec. They shouldn't have to be exposed to his psychic whatevers.

He's just about to get up when Ben flinches, eyes popping open in time with a sudden inhalation of breath.

"Benny…"

"Uncle Sam?" The kid blinks and rubs at his eyes but he relaxes somewhat. "Is something wrong?

"Nothing's wrong. I just…I wanted you to have your bear." That's the truth. Some of it, anyway.

"Oh. Thank you."

"No problem. Go back to sleep for me, okay?"

"Okay."

Ben's eyes remain stubbornly open for a while. Sam waits, drifts a calming hand up and down the kid's side until he finally relaxes and shuts them again.

He doesn't know how else to say goodbye.

It's snowing again. It was melting earlier, but now it's probably all frozen. He's cold just looking out the window, but he hitches his bag over his shoulder and zips up his coat, sucks in a breath and steps out the door. It won't be that long, it won't, and when he gets back, it'll be better for all of them. Maybe they'll even be able to sleep again like they used to, maybe Sam will be able to feel that closeness again, that warmth of his brother and his…their boys. His and Dean's. They'll sleep again, all in a pile, because it's hard to get two beds these days and Sam won't have to worry about when he's awake, about how he might get angry or scared or freaked the fuck out because he'll be able to control it.

Just as soon as he gets back.

"Sam?"

If he ever leaves.

Sam turns around. Snow crunches under his boots. He can make out Dean's silhouette on the porch, the yellow light of the open doorway outlining his rigid form. Sam knows his brother, knows every facial expression and every stance because he's been memorizing them for twenty-six years and he knows for a fact that this is Dean's what-the-fuck-do-you-think-you're-doing stance. It didn't used to look this way. About fifteen years ago, it was just a replica of Dad's what-the-fuck-do-you-think-you're-doing stance, but sometime between Stanford and Dad's death, Dean managed to conjure something of his own out of it. And Sam learned that one, too. It's this one.

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?"

"Aren't you cold?"

Dean doesn't respond to that, just disappears into the house and Sam kind of regrets saying anything, because really…he could have just left. Dean might have just stood there with feet petrified by the snow, and Sam could have walked away in that universe where Dean isn't the sort of guy to just go back inside to slip on some worn combat boots and trudge out into the freezing cold in nothing but his boxers and T-shirt, in that universe where Dean doesn't always come after Sam.

Sometimes Sam wishes he lived in that universe. Sometimes, like now, with his brother yanking him back by the strap of his duffel.

"_Dean_."

"Get your ass back inside."

Okay, maybe it's not purely selfless, the reason Sam's leaving. There's this, too, this entire situation where Dean's got the reins and Sam's fighting against the bit – but for God's sake, it's been his entire life and the corners of his mouth are starting to tear.

"No."

Dean's jerking the duffel's strap again, and then he's gripping Sam by the elbow, leading him inside, and Sam's so used to this that his legs just carry him along. Dean's in charge, Dean's always in charge until Sam snaps out of it and starts asking why and what-for, when he pulls back and pushes his brother away.

"Sammy," the growl is low and warning. "I'm fucking freezing and I swear on everything holy-"

"You don't_ believe _in anything holy."

"I swear on Mom's grave-"

"Mom's not in there."

Dean grits his teeth and stomps his foot, snarls in frustration before reaching for Sam's elbow again. Sam's quicker on the uptake this time, though, and his evasion is swift. He's not…he won't let Dean do this to him. He's not fifteen.

"I'm not fifteen."

Another foot stomp. A hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of a nose. "You're right. You're not fifteen." Dean agrees, and he sounds like he means it. Sam would feel gratified if he didn't know his brother so well, if he didn't know what was coming next. "You're freakin' _seven_. You did this when you were _seven_ and I was twelve and it was cold as balls then, too. M'sorry, Sam. This time I can say for certain that Dad's not coming back, so suck it the fuck up and get your ass back in the house."

Sometimes there's nothing more enraging in this world than a sibling who can recount every embarrassing childhood anecdote for every possible present scenario – especially when that sibling is completely wrong in doing so. "Don't act like you don't know why I'm doing this. You_ know_ why." Sam's voice carries in the dark. He didn't realize how loud he was talking until now.

"I do. And it's for a stupid fucking reason."

He didn't realize how close he was standing to his brother, either. He can feel Dean's hot breath graze his chin, can hear the knuckles pop as the guy's fists clench. They're going to start swinging any moment now.

_I'm trying to keep you safe_, Sam wants to say. _I'm doing this for you and yours, ours._

"_You're_ a stupid fucking reason," he says instead, and he may not be fifteen, but his voice is, fifteen and surly and shut-the-fuck-up-I'm-not-like-you. This isn't how he wanted it to go down. Sam's mature outside of arguments with his brother, he swears it.

Dean's apparently had enough. Sam can tell by the way his brother's grabbing the front of his coat and heaving him in the direction of the house and this is the shit that Dad used to pull. Winchesters have always been about the manhandling.

Sam's about to pull away, is about to tell Dean to get his fucking hands off him, but that's when he looks up and sees their small faces pressed against the window, pale and drawn. He can't let them see him like this, not again.

"Dean…_Dean_." Dean's not listening. Sam digs his heels into the ground, easily throws his brother off-balance, but catches him, grabs his arm and steadies him before he can topple all angry-faced and bare-skinned into the snow. "I'll go in, okay? We'll talk it over. Just…the kids."

Dean tears his arm away from Sam's hold, but refrains from reaching back to seize him again. His eyes skitter over to the window just in time to see Ben and Alec duck away.

"Fine," comes the grunt, and Sam's not surprised when Dean just stands there and waits for him to start trudging in first, as if expecting he'll run away when his back is turned.

But, whatever. They're going into the house because Sam said he would go into the house and that's some slight form of control, so maybe, for once, Sam can take the reins. He just needs to make Dean see reason, needs to stay on top of the conversation and then maybe they can discuss this like two grown men as opposed to some emotionally-stunted asshole and his baby brother.

The kitchen is warm and Dean's quick to shut the door and shake the cold from his legs. Sam watches him with steady eyes. He's going to keep this short and civil and to the point. He clears his throat, feeling for a moment like he's back in college and about to give a presentation worth an exorbitant percent of his grade.

"Let me start this off by saying that you can't make me stay-"

The impact of Dean's fist knocks him back a few steps this time, his ass colliding with the kitchen counter before he can go any farther, or potentially lose his balance. Sam doesn't know why he's always taken off-guard by his brother's blows, or why he always mistakenly assumes that the art of talking like adults is something everyone achieves by the time they reach their mid-twenties – it's moments like these when he realizes he still needs to wise up to the fact that while his legs grew, the couch didn't. His surroundings will never match his age, and neither will the way his sibling treats him.

Sam shakes his head, lifts his eyes from the dirty kitchen floor to meet his brother's, but they stop less than mid-way up.

All cats need bells. Alec and Ben are no exception. He didn't hear them come in, didn't see them step in front of him or form this low wall to shield him from Dean.

"We don't hit our brothers," Alec says, his voice strong but edged with either shock or hurt, Sam's uncertain. "Not in this family."

Sam briefly wonders if he's too young to have a heart attack. The kid listens - he _listened_ all those months ago. To _Sam_. The recitation is almost word for word and Sam can't help the swell of pride that rises from his gut, even now. Even now when he knows for a fact that he shouldn't feel pride at all because Alec's forgetting that exception to the rule – and this...

Sam doesn't even know anymore, because here they are, standing between him and Dean, small limbs strained and ready to break them apart lest they start hurting each other.

Dean's eyes are like slowly cracking glass. "Kitten-"

"We don't hit our brothers," Alec repeats, and there's a small snarl to his voice this time, a ferocity that will one day grow into something perpetual and underlying, a command, an order, a rule. It strikes Sam that it's not the first time he's heard this tone come out of this mouth.

_You're scaring my brother. You don't get to do that._

Dean's entire life has been about keeping Sam safe, and maybe it wasn't just because Dad gave him a job to do. Alec never met John Winchester, but here he is with that same need ingrained into him, into his very nature, that need to protect his brother, his uncle, his blood.

And Sam was going to leave him. The exception to the no-hitting-your-brother rule might very well apply in this case.

He reaches a hand forward, snatches the back of the boy's far too-big T-shirt between two fingers, pulls him in so that his head is just barely touching Sam's stomach.

"It's okay, buddy."

He feels the head brush from side to side. "S'not okay. It's never okay."

Ben's moving now, edging over to the refrigerator. Sam watches as he pulls a dishrag off the counter, stands on his tiptoes to get into the freezer for ice.

"Benny…"

"Ice takes down the swelling…it'll swell…" Ben's voice is quiet as he wraps the cubes in the cloth, presses the cold package into Sam's hand. "Normal people swell. You're kind of normal. You'll swell."

It feels like something's breaking inside of him when he realizes it. Sam was going to leave, he was going to leave them. He can't even process the reason at this point, he just can't-

"What in the fuckin' hell?" Bobby's standing in the threshold, looking at them with wide, tired eyes. Sam wonders if the hunter sleeps in that hat, because it's on his head even though he was obviously just sleeping. Maybe he keeps it on the nightstand, puts it on every time he gets up out of sheer habit. Maybe he- "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Your face looks like it's bruising. Someone hit you, boy?" Wise eyes float over to Dean, who grunts and straightens, meets Bobby's gaze with a surly glare.

"He fell down some stairs."

Bobby raises his eyebrows, crosses his arms. "Uh huh."

"The porch stairs. He was on his way out." Saying those words does something to Dean to take him back ten minutes, and he clenches his hands into fists again. This time they're not in the dark, though, and Sam can see the look in his eye – the hurt mingling with the anger, almost overpowering it, but not quite. "Sammy was running away from home."

Bobby levels a look at Sam for only a second, but the disappointment in his eyes is nothing in comparison to the way Alec's taking steps away, turning around, backing up into Dean with the pain of betrayal raw on his face.

Ben doesn't move. He just looks at the floor.

"I think you need to cool off." The words are directed at Dean, and Sam watches his brother's eyes narrow even as he places a relatively gentle hand on Alec's chest.

"M'fine."

"Did that sound like a suggestion to you?" Bobby's irritated to all hell. Sam doesn't blame him. It's one thing to bombard his house while they're on the run from the government, it's completely another to disrupt his sleep.

Dean closes his eyes, mouths something incomprehensible. Sam can practically hear him willing himself not to snap. "No, sir."

"You're damn right. Now, I'm going back to bed. I expect _you_," Sam finds himself on the end of a steely gaze, "to still be here when I wake up. And I also expect you to be in one piece," Bobby adds, eyes drifting over to Dean.

"He's not going to hit Uncle Sam again," Alec interjects, reaching out and gripping Dean's free hand with his own. "S'okay, Bobby."

Bobby's lip twitches. "You'll hold down the fort, will ya?"

"Yes, sir, if you want to give me n' Ben ultimate power."

"You gonna abuse it?"

"Most likely."

Bobby allows himself a full-fledged smirk, though he doesn't respond with anything but a nod before turning around and walking himself back to bed. Sam watches Alec tilt his head up to look at Dean. Dean, whose eyes don't seem to be leaving Sam anytime soon.

"I'm taking that as a passing over of the torch, just so you know."

Sam's not even sure if Dean heard that, what with the fact that he simply pats Alec's narrow chest once before disentangling himself from the boy.

"Dad?"

Dean's silent as he pulls a chair out from the kitchen table, sets its back against where the walls meet in the corner of the room. Sam has no idea what the hell this is about and he's so busy staring at the lone piece of furniture that he's surprised to feel his brother's hand on his elbow again, gripping it, though not nearly as roughly as before.

"Dean?"

"Just…come." There's a plea somewhere amidst Dean's quiet anger and Sam feels like his legs are propelling themselves into following the tug so obediently, into allowing those hands to push him down into that chair.

"What-"

Dean cuts him off with a finger in his face. "Don't fucking move."

"_Dean_." There's no way in hell. Sam's not fifteen, and he's not nine or ten, and he's definitely not five.

But then there's a smaller replica of Dean's finger imitating that same stern gesture and Alec's voice echoing those words, "Don't move."

And then they're turning around, both of them, and Dean's calling for Ben to follow, because apparently "Uncle Sammy's got some thinking to do."

Ben lingers, though. He lingers, and puts a small hand on Sam's knee, looks up at him with sad green eyes, says in a voice that doesn't actually expect Sam to obey but hopes so clearly that he will, "Please don't go."

Sam doesn't move. Sam doesn't go.

He can't.

* * *

It's been two hours at least, and Sam's still sitting here, his ass aching even though he's slouching, legs extended for miles in front of him, tipping the chair back onto its hind bolsters like a bored kid in grade school. And he knows how ridiculous this is, how he shouldn't be submitting to Dean's fraternal power trips because this...this is the problem. Well, part of it, anyway.

And Sam was angry, still is, but before it was the kind of anger that could take down a forest. That was before the downpour, though. That was before they woke up and he saw them awake and in the light and they were like tiny flesh-covered fire hydrants with socked feet and hurt faces and he was going to leave them. He still can't believe he was going to leave them. It was easier in the dark, when he was caught up in that game of pretending he wasn't a ghost.

Sam needs to come to terms with the fact that he'll always be exactly like the things he hunts.

"Uncle Sam?" Alec's a whisper coming through the door and his steps are silent as he pads forward. He stops at Sam's knee, quirks a lip upward. "Have you learned your lesson, yet?"

Dean's infuriating in all of his forms, but at least this one's small enough and willing enough to be easily manhandled. Sam grunts, pulls the kid in and up onto his lap, brushes his mouth over the spiky head.

"Your hair's growing back fast," he mumbles into the boy's scalp. He doesn't know if it's true, really, but he knows it'll make Alec happy to hear it, so he says it anyway.

"Yeah?" Alec's voice is bright. "I thought it might be. Maybe I'll be able to grow some long, gorgeous locks like yours, huh, Uncle Sam?"

"Maybe."

"S'my hope for the future, honestly."

Sam snorts, lifts his head up only to replace it with his index finger, which he trails down the center of Alec's head to the base of his neck, slicing the barcode in half on his way. Alec shivers, shakes the digit off.

"I think it's growing in darker, too," Sam tells him.

"Like Dean's?" Hope. Sam feels like he hasn't heard hope like that in a long time.

"Like Dean's," he agrees. "And you're getting bigger. You must have shot up at least an inch since we found you."

"Awesome," Alec says, even though he doesn't seem to care too much about that particular observation. He swings his legs, knocks his ankles gently back into Sam's shins. Sam's hand is moved over to rest in a tiny lap, his fingers plucked and picked at as Alec sits without saying a word for at least five minutes.

"Alec?"

Alec shakes his head.

Dean doesn't like to talk, either, when he's mad at Sam. In fact, sometimes Dean likes to pretend his anger doesn't exist at all.

"Sweetheart?" Sam tries again, because it works when Dean does it, these pet names. Dad never used them. Dad was all about the "champ" and the "sport" and the "kiddo," but Dean...

"What?" Alec grumbles, and his ankle comes back just a little bit harder into Sam's shin this time.

Dean understands himself better than even he knows. He understands the words he doesn't say, that Dad didn't say, the words that will open him up. Sam sometimes still wonders what his mother smelled like, if her skin was soft, if she used these words while he wailed like an asshole infant, or when Dean scraped a knee, back when Dean was still young enough to shed more than one tear at a time.

"Do you have something you want to say to me?" Sam braces himself, well aware that he just handed a child a gun and told him to shoot.

Alec shakes his head. Again.

"Nothing? We're just going to sit here, then?"

"Yeah." The kid shifts on Sam's lap, makes himself comfortable. His head is heavy and limp against Sam's chest.

"Okay," Sam agrees, because he doesn't know what the hell else to do. If it were Dean, he would press, possibly yell, bait the bastard into letting him have it, letting it out, but this isn't Dean.

Alec kicks his leg out again and brings it back. Hard.

Slash that previous thought. It's a little Dean.

"_Fuck_," Sam hisses, because the sting is red and hot and lasting. "Alec Winchester."

If the name gives the boy pause, he doesn't show it. He keeps himself stubbornly fitted into his human chair even as Sam attempts to lean forward and rub the pain from his leg.

"Alec, we don't hurt each other." Sam knows just how ridiculous he sounds. Hurting each other is all they've been doing recently, after all.

"You hurt me first," the kid shoots back, crossing his arms. "You're a fickle bitch, Uncle Sam."

Holy shit, the mouth on this kid.

"_Hey_." The reprimand just gets him an elbow to the ribs. Sam winces at the pain, tries not to vocalize it. "The rule about not hitting brothers extends to uncles, too, Alec. Do it again and I'll-"

"Unless they _deserve_ it." Alec twines his legs behind Sam's, locking himself into place lest Sam try to move him. "_You_ made that exception and _you_ fit into it. Deal."

"Alec-"

"Fuck you," the kid snarls, slapping away Sam's grabby hands. Sam's pretty sure he's going to start kicking again any second now and maybe this time he'll bruise or sprain or break something, but instead he just presses Sam's hands down onto his own small thighs, keeps them there so Sam can't move them, and asks in a voice that's trying so hard, but failing to maintain that animalistic pretense, "Why did you want to leave me?"

The crack in Alec's voice shoots a bullet into Sam's gut. Fuck childhood, sad miniature versions of Dean are what's going to cause him to bleed out in the end.

"I didn't want to leave you," he says, because that's true. It's the truest thing he's said all day, in fact.

Alec shakes his head. "Then why the fuck were you trying to go? We only do what we want. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. Not out here."

Out here. Alec's just starting to breathe the world into his lungs, he doesn't...he can't possibly understand what out here's all about, yet.

"It's not that simple, baby."

"M'not a baby. I'm a genetically-enhanced instrument of death, and it _is_ that simple. Nobody was pushing or pulling you out that door. It was just you, walking away from us."

Sam wedges his hands out from underneath Alec's palms, wraps his arms around the kid's middle. Dean has this power, too, the power to only see black and white when he feels like it - selective ignorance in its most innocent form. "We do what we want, but we have to keep moral and familial obligation in mind. I was trying to keep you safe. "

"You're doing it wrong."

Alec doesn't understand, doesn't even want to understand. Sam has to make him understand.

"Alec, I...I'm not the safest person to be around right now. This...thing...you, um, you know about this thing, you've mentioned it-" Sam can't say what it is. Sam can't talk about freak adrenaline things to tiny children who weren't and should never be raised in this life.

"I don't give a clown's ass about your telekinesis, Sam."

He really needs to learn to stop underestimating them.

"Alec."

"I _don't_. It_ saved_ us. You have freaky brain powers and that's awesome. Why can't you see that's awesome?"

Sam can't see that's awesome because it's not awesome and he doesn't know how to explain to Alec that sometimes being a freak doesn't mean you automatically fit in with other freaks, even if they are your blood. He doesn't know how to explain that some freaks are good freaks and some freaks are dark freaks, so he goes for the simple version.

"It comes from a bad place."

"No." Alec's head isn't going to stop shaking today. "It doesn't."

"Alec-"

"It comes from you, doesn't it? You're a good place. You're good people." The boy hasn't unlinked his legs, yet. If anything, he's twining them tighter as the conversation progresses. "You're good and you think bad things, like Ben. There's nothing bad about you, you just think there is."

"The things in our lives aren't so black and white. You know that. There are circumstances-"

"I don't_ care_ about circumstances," the boy growls, his legs now choking Sam's own like two pythons. "There are simple rules that everyone should live by and number one is that you stay with your unit. You stay with your unit even if you don't want to, and even if they don't want you to sometimes, because if you don't have your unit, you don't have anyone and then you disappear."

You stay with your unit. You stay with your family. Everything that Dean understands is what Alec understands is what Ben understands. Sam's outnumbered and starting to feel disillusioned.

"What happened to 'we do what we want?'"

"S'a moot point now. I don't give a shit about what you want. I don't want you to disappear."

Sam doesn't know what to say to that, so he doesn't say anything, not for a long time. They sit there and they breathe and Alec eventually unhooks his legs, goes back to gently swinging them back and forth, ankles once again colliding with Sam's shins. Sam wonders what they're waiting for. Sam wonders why he's still in this chair. He can get up anytime he wants to. The kid might have grown, but he's still small, and Sam can get up anytime he wants to, can pull the kid up and set him on the ground and try his best to muddle through this situation without disappearing.

"M'bad, you know."

The admission is almost inaudible. Sam has to strain to hear it, but once he does, he realizes that he's not going anywhere any time soon. This is what their bones are made of, these words. Self-loathing, yet another Winchester curse, another defect passed through generations of blood and misery.

"You're not bad," Sam says, and he shifts, catches the boy's legs in the crook of his arm, swings him around so they're dangling limply across his thighs. He swallows when he feels Alec's head drop onto his shoulder, tries to down his guilt because he was going to leave and this, this boy in his arms so pliant, is trusting him to stay.

"I am, too," Alec mumbles, his breath like a faint kiss against Sam's neck. "I want guns."

"You can't have 'em. But wanting 'em doesn't make you bad." Sam feels a slight movement against his clavicle, another head shake.

"I want them and I want to use them. I want to shoot them all dead."

Sam doesn't have to ask who.

"Every last one of them, every one of them who touched me like I was made of wood or metal or clay or what-the-fuck-ever else you can make shit with. Every one of them who locked me up in spaces too small because I spoke without permission. I want them dead and I know it won't be hard because I'm an awesome shot."

Sam doesn't tell him it's disturbing, hearing him talk this way. He can't. He has a palm on the kid's hip, though, and he presses it in, brings Alec in as close as he can.

"What they did to Ben…he's s'posed to be like me, you know, like Dean. He's s'posed to be a rebel who cracks jokes at inappropriate times, who knows he doesn't have to do what anyone says ever unless he wants to. And he's not. It's in him, somewhere, I know it, but he can't let it come out and that's their fault. I want to kill them for what they did to him. I want to kill them for fucking him up so badly that he thought a corpse's teeth would bring him luck."

"I know," Sam says. It's all he can say. It's all that will come out of his mouth. "I know." Again and again in hushed tones against the kid's head.

"I want to kill them because they shot the guy that saved us…did you…you saw him. He shot him. Lydecker. He put him on his knees and he shot him through the back of his skull and that was my fault, I should have gotten him out, he saved us, he let me out and we're alive now because he…he let me out and Lydecker just shot him dead."

Alec's been living with this for days, and Sam…Sam kind of knew it, kind of assumed it as soon as the guard went down and Alec…Alec grabbed the gun as soon as he caught his breath, but then he was fine again, dandy, like Dean was after Dad died, like Dean is after anything that fucks him in the head until he completely loses it. And all Sam can say is, "That's not your fault." _I know. That's not your fault._ There was a point in time when Sam's vocabulary was pretty extensive, he swears it.

"S'okay, Uncle Sam," Alec tells him, and his voice isn't broken or even cracking, but it's not empty, either; it's just steady and resolute. "M'gonna go back there one day and I'm going to burn it to the ground. When I'm big. Big like Dean."

"Alec, I-" A small hand shoots up and covers his mouth. Sam doesn't fight against it, lets it rest there for a good quarter-minute until Alec removes it himself.

"I just…I wanted you to know that I have bad stuff inside of me, too. Really bad stuff. Wherever it comes from, your mind thing? Pales in comparison. You don't want to hurt anybody. I know you don't because we're blood, right? I'm yours and you're mine and all that? M'not-"

"Yeah," Sam breaks in. "Of course."

"And you won't leave me? You can't keep me safe if you're not here."

It may or may not be a mistake, but Sam nods and asserts, "I won't leave you," because he won't. Not ever. Not unless someone drags him in bloody pieces out the door.

He feels Alec's lips brush his jaw.

"Good." The kid swings his legs around and slides off Sam's lap. "I'm holding you to that."

Sam watches as Alec traipses out of the kitchen, step as light as if they had just discussed the weather. The room is heavy and Sam's ass aches, but he still doesn't move from this chair, not until Dean wanders in, rubbing his eyes like he's just been asleep.

"Sam? I, uh…"

Dean's sorry. Dean's looking at the floor and shuffling his feet and trying to get the words out.

"Yeah," Sam says, and stands, stretches, as his brother manages to lift his gaze again, relief painted all over his face. "Me, too."

"You're not..."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Dean brings up a nervous arm and scratches the back of his head, focuses his gaze somewhere around Sam's knees. "We're going to figure this thing out. I'm gonna try to be…I'm not going to let anything-"

"I know."

Dean lifts his head. Sam tries not to fidget under that green-eyed stare for a long moment, but then his brother smirks, reaches a hand over, and claps his shoulder. He gestures with his eyebrows in the direction of the chair, says, "Now you know how Alec feels."

Sam wants to tell Dean that truer words have never been spoken, but he doesn't, just smacks the center of his brother's back with a large palm and offers a half-smile. He leaves his hand there, feels Dean tense and relax under his touch. "I think we should try to go into town sometime, earn some money. Alec needs those sneakers."

"Yeah?" Dean sounds surprised. "What happened to 'not spoiling the kids' or whatever the hell you were ranting about a few weeks ago?"

"He needs them before he gets too big for them," Sam says, without adding what he's thinking when he says it: Alec just never needs to get big. Ever. Alec needs to stay small for as long as it takes for Sam and Dean to go back to Wyoming, to destroy Manticore so Alec and Ben won't ever have to think about it again. Sam doesn't care about changing perspectives or growing legs because that couch will always be the same size, and Alec's hands will always be too small to carry a gun.

Dean tilts his head to the side, looks at the ceiling as if he's contemplating Sam's reason for saying this now, but then he nods. "Yeah, I guess he does."

"Great."

"Terrific."

They don't say anything else because there's nothing else to say. Sam's still here and he's still got a poison inside of him. He'll still float through the days either trying to control it or forget it, and he'll still have Dean to anchor him down, Dean and Alec and Ben, who he'll try not to hurt and will never leave, because he can't. Sam's not a ghost and he can't disappear.


	27. It

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Twenty-Seven - It_

_

* * *

_

Alec knows something about war. He knows it's a cold and bloody state and there are guns and bombs and tanks constantly being set off by soldiers who know nothing about the men they're killing. He knows there are casualties, knows war is the place where you step over the bodies of your brothers and sisters and try not to look down because sometimes they're in pieces and you don't ever want to see them in pieces. Alec knows that some people cheat war like they cheat death and they come out alive, but not really. He knows that even if they come out with only a few holes and cuts and all their limbs intact, they're never quite right afterwards.

"Alec?" Ben's been to war like Alec's been to war. They didn't have tanks or bombs or even guns, but the other side did, and all Alec could do was run past the dead and dying children in the snow and try not to look down. He knows that if he had stayed, if he'd never attempted to go, he would have eventually been on that other side, but he didn't and he won't be. Not ever. "Alec, _stay_."

Alec knows that war never leaves you, knows that you'll always remember it and the feeling it gave you, how you were terrified and enraged all at the same time and you just wanted to run away, but you also wanted to run back and tear out their throats with your bare, little hands.

It's so very conflicting. Alec now firmly believes he was _born_ conflicted, born a rebel into a world of constant orders and rules. War has always been inside of him, gnawing through flesh and skin, begging to be let out for recess, and Alec has to let it out sometimes. He has to. He's a pretty child who doesn't want any holes in his pretty skin.

"Alec, _don't_," Ben pleads and he leans forward from the armrest of the couch, reaches over his own blanket-covered legs to wrap a hand around Alec's ankle and tug. "Dean said to stay. We should stay."

Alec yanks his foot back, out of his twin's grip, and glares. "_You_ don't want to stay, either. Not really." Ben doesn't want to stay. Alec can see it in his eyes. Ben has this thing inside of him, too, and the only thing keeping him in place is the fact that this particular battle has nothing to do with blood or bombs and there's no real sense of urgency because there's no real sense of danger. This is a power struggle, and it's strictly nonviolent. "Are you with me or against me?"

Alec's amazed that this question is what causes Ben to temporarily lose that infuriating altruistic facade he's so intent on keeping. His twin narrows his eyes and scowls, crosses his arms before dropping back against the armrest with a huff. "Neither."

"Well, you have to be one of 'em."

"No, I _don't_, Alec. I'm not choosing between you and Dean. M'staying on the couch like he told us to do and you should, too."

"You're such a brownnoser, Ben. Have I ever told you that?"

"Why, yes, you have. And then you got your ice cream taken away." Ben's a smug fucking bastard. Alec kind of wants to take a swing at his stupid face, but he doesn't because he knows what this is and he knows that Ben secretly wants to come with him and protest this injustice. And their abandonment. And Dean's stupidity.

"I'm going to forgive you for this moment because I'm an awesome brother," he informs his twin as he slides off the couch and drops to the floor with a slap of his bare feet against the wood. "And because I know you're just doing this because you're still demented and think that Dean will throw you away if you do anything that could potentially be construed as wrong."

Ben opens his mouth to protest, but Alec's already got his back turned. He sucks in a breath and straightens his form because this is it. He's going to go into the kitchen and he's going to win this one, goddamnit.

"Alec?" Dean freezes with one arm in his leather jacket and one foot already out the door.

"You need a glass of water, buddy?" Sam's sitting on the counter raising his eyebrows and fighting a smirk. "Or maybe some _warm milk_?"

That's it. Alec's had it up to _here_ with these two.

He's not even thinking about it, not even thinking about moving his feet, because his feet are moving him. His legs are a blur, kicking up dust where there is none like one of those old cartoons that used to come on TV before all the shit went down, when it was still Sam and Dean and Ben and Alec traveling from motel room to motel room with heads that were functioning relatively well - given the circumstances of their lives, that is. Alec totally understands the circumstances of his life now: legs that are a blur and dust that isn't there and hands that were built for thievery, hands that grab Dean's still-empty jacket sleeve and tug, and now Alec's careening around and pulling the jacket right off and Dean doesn't even know what hit him.

And when it does hit him, he's too late. Alec's already across the room, dancing out of Sam's reach and holding the beloved garment behind his back, smirking, because he's got the upper-hand here and Dean's losing this battle and Alec is amazing.

"I'm amazing," he says.

He hears a quiet chuckle come from Sam's direction, but Dean doesn't look amused, not at all. Dean's shifting his eyes to the side and clenching his jaw. His legs are tense, ready to move the second Alec lets his guard down, but Alec's not going to let his guard down, not ever, because this isn't happening. Dean's not going anywhere, and the concept of a set time for lights-out ended with Manticore.

"You're amazing," Dean finally agrees and he takes a slow, controlled step towards Alec. "You're amazing and you're going to bed and you're going to stay there. You know why you're going to stay there?"

Alec knows Dean's answer to this question. That doesn't mean he's going to open his mouth and let it out into the air.

"You're gonna stay there because I put you there." Dean takes another step forward and Alec backs up until he's pressed against the counter, still with the jacket behind his back, gripping it, rubbing the worn leather between his fingers and telling himself that he'll never let it go, that Dean's going to have to pry it from his cold, dead hands, because Alec's not losing this one. Alec _won't_ lose this one.

"Who do you even think you _are_?" he demands. "When did you decide that dictatorship was the way to go?"

"It's not a dictatorship, kitten."

"The hell it isn't! What's next? Set times for elimination?"

"Elimination?" Dean's eyebrows furrow in confusion as Sam turns his head to hide the amusement parading across his face.

"I think he means, uh...'going to the bathroom,' Dean."

"Oh..._oh_," Dean's eyes widen just a bit. He shakes his head. "'Course not. You gotta go when you gotta go."

"And I gotta sleep when I gotta sleep. And right now I don't have to sleep."

"Well, you're going to have to try, aren't you?"

"No." No, Alec doesn't have to try. Not if he doesn't want to and he doesn't want to, and forcing him to do something he doesn't want to do is an injustice, a crime against humanity even. "I won't. It's a crime against humanity."

Dean's got that look on his face, that are-you-kidding me look, and he starts approaching slowly, like he's a lion and Alec's a gazelle, which is a completely fucked-up analogy if you ask Alec. Alec's the one with the cat DNA. Not Dean. Alec's the one who comes out of this alive, with food in his stomach and blood on his teeth.

"A crime against humanity? Really." There's some mirth in Dean's eyes as he asks the question, as Alec slides down the side of the counter until he's backed up into a corner. He could just duck out now, could shoot across the room and keep the chase going, but he knows a verbal out when he sees it.

"If you wanna get technical about it, it's a crime against kitten-kind."

Dean comes to a halt a few feet away, turns his head to hide his grin, but Alec sees it, sees the flash of teeth and the crinkle of Dean's eyes and right now, in this moment, it doesn't feel like war. This is Dean. Dean, who's amused by the smallest, most insignificant things that come out of Alec's mouth, because Alec's his and Dean's Alec's, and Dean can't go anywhere, not now. He can't. The world is dark and terrible and it'll eat Dean alive if Alec's not there with him.

"Dean." Dean's distracted and Sam's using that prodding tone he manages to achieve just by saying a name.

"What? I got this."

Sam rolls his eyes. Alec kind of hates it when Sam rolls his eyes. Hates it and loves it. Sometimes he struggles to understand how two opposing forces of such an extreme nature can exist in the same brain at the same time without causing an explosion. "You don't have this at _all_."

"Sure I do." Dean clears his throat and turns his head, pins Alec with serious-business eyes. He holds out an open hand and waggles his fingers, smacks them against his palm. "Kid? Gimme my jacket."

"No."

"Don't tell me no." Dean's one step closer. Alec's darting across the room, feeling the brush of the bossy hands trying to grab him, trying to put him in some place that's not his. Alec's place isn't a sheet-covered couch at nine-fifteen at night. Alec doesn't have a bedtime. "_Alec_."

"What?" Alec backs up against the wall, takes some comfort in the feel of the jacket wedged between himself and the peeling wallpaper. This is where he is, and if he's here with the jacket in his hands, then Dean's here, too. Alec hasn't lost and Dean's not gone.

"Do you remember that conversation we had about poking the bear?"

"Yeah, I remember that conversation." Alec smiles fondly at the memory, at the empty checkbox in his head on his mental to-do-list. He can't wait until they camp out again.

"Well, that's what you're doing. You're poking the bear. And trust me, the bear does not want to be poked." Dean's not even trying to come closer now. He's leaning against the counter with his arms crossed and that look in his eyes that says he's had enough. Alec knows this look because Sam's always on the receiving end of it. "Now you're gonna come over here and you're gonna give me my jacket and then you're going to bed, capice?"

No.

"No. You're not going anywhere."

Dean's face goes soft. His arms relax a little, but stay crossed. "I'll be back in a few hours. Sam's gonna stay with you and Ben. I need to score us some dough so we can get out of Bobby's hair, you know that."

Alec doesn't know that. Or he does, maybe, because Sam and Dean were talking about it earlier, but he doesn't _care_. Dean's leaving, Dean's going out all by himself into a world that is black and scary and littered with bad seeds and secret government agents and they'll snatch him up the second he steps foot out that door. Alec _knows_ this. They'll stun him and they'll take him, or they won't even do that, they'll just shove him to his knees and-

"Alec?"

-and they'll-

"Kitten?"

They'll win the war.

"Kid, look at me."

There are two hands firm against his upper arms, shaking him and then squeezing and then they're gone, they've moved to his fingers, disentangling them from that jacket that smells vaguely of aftershave mingled with traces of cigarette smoke long-since exhaled, and something else that Alec doesn't know how to describe as anything other than _Dean_.

"Look at me. I'm right here."

Alec blinks. Dean's face comes into focus, and he's so close that his nose is almost brushing Alec's and he's on his knees, but he's here and they can't get him when he's here.

"You alright?"

Of course he's alright. Alec's always alright.

"I'm always alright," he says, but the disbelief painted on Dean's face is opaque and irritating, and Alec curls his toes and closes his eyes and tries not to snap. He needs to stop it with this vulnerable shit. Soldiers aren't weaklings. "I'm not going to bed."

Green eyes harden. "Oh, yes. You are."

"I'm not. And you can't make me." The jacket's on the floor, cast off by Dean's hands in favor of consoling Alec and he's grateful for this, he really is, but it isn't enough. Dean can't just force something so absurd as a bedtime on him and then leave. What does he think Alec is, anyway?

Alec knows what Alec is. Alec's the impossible soldier, the one who survives without seeing his brother or his uncle or his dad face-down and bleeding in the snow.

"_Yoink_." Alec's the one with the leather jacket back in his hands, kicking up that invisible dust again.

"Dude, it's not cute anymore," Dean's saying, but the words are lost in the air whipping past Alec's ears as he bolts out of the kitchen. He's so fast. He loves that he's so fast.

"Alec?" Ben's ramrod-straight on the couch, startled as anything, and Alec wants to tell him that it's going to be okay, that Dean's not leaving, that Alec's taking care of this. Alec's taking care of everything. "Why do you have Dean's jacket?"

"No time." The pounding of big, booted feet is far too close for comfort and Alec shoots through the living room, through the dining room, aims for the basement then rethinks it because the basement is the scary place, even in Bobby's house. He shouldn't have stopped, though, because now Dean's only six feet away, skidding to a sudden halt and glaring.

"C'mere."

"No."

Dean sinks his teeth into his lip and holds them there as if he's struggling to keep something dangerous contained. An animal, maybe, or a bomb. Alec doesn't know, and he doesn't really want to know, but he's going to know because he's not surrendering, not ever. He'll outrun it, whatever it is. He'll do whatever he has to.

Dean snaps his fingers and the sound is like a warning shot. Alec flinches, swallows when the hunter points to the ground directly in front of his feet, growls, "I'm not even kidding with you right now. Get over here."

Dean never talks to him like this. This is a horrible way to talk.

Alec doesn't even realize where his eyes go, isn't really conscious of the fact that he's looking for a way to dodge the bullet even though he's stepping back and readying himself for escape and Dean growls again, but there aren't words this time. Just the sound, angry and treacherous, and Alec doesn't even want to deal with it.

"Freeze."

Alec doesn't get cold enough to freeze.

"Alright, that's it. If you take one more step, I swear to God-"

Alec doesn't let him finish that threat. He's gone, on feet like birds ascending the stairs, flying through the upstairs hallway with Dean hot on his wings, and this'll be no problem. It would be, maybe, if Alec were anyone else. If Alec were anyone else this would be his fatal flaw, rushing from room to room, tripping over beds and trash and rotting wood from furniture that should've been thrown out twenty years ago. If Alec were anyone else, this would be a trap, but it's just him and Dean and Dean's hands may be well-trained and possessive, but Alec's a quick and evasive creature. Alec can leap over mattresses and careen around corners and duck into that bedroom at the end of the hall for another song and dance. He can keep it going forever, he just knows it.

He just believes it.

He's riding high on his fourth minute and his feet are starting to hurt from hammering against the wood, but Dean's right behind him and the door's right there, and he can't stop. Not ever. So he pushes it open and barrels right in. Right into Sam's awaiting arms.

And now Alec knows how monsters feel.

Dean wipes the perspiration from his forehead and takes in a long, agitated breath. Alec struggles for a moment, but stills when Sam's gentle tone turns sharp because apparently, they've had enough. They've had enough and they've won.

"Nine or ten's a little too old to have Daddy chasing you around the whole fuckin' house, Alec." Dean's voice is vexed, but his hands are gentle as they peel the jacket away from Alec's grip.

"I'm emotionally stunted," Alec replies. "And for your information, I consider it a genetic defect."

Dean's eyes flash with something as he shrugs the jacket back on, and Alec's not sure what it is - irritation or hurt or a reluctant sort of understanding, he doesn't know, but he kind of wants to take it back, wants to take it all back because Dean has this sad and tired look about him and Alec was the one who put it there. Alec wants to surrender five hours ago, before the sun ever went down.

"I was thirty by the time I was five, sweetheart."

Alec was a machine three times broken by the time he could process a thought.

"If I let you go, do you promise not to run?" Sam's leaning down and his hair is tickling Alec's cheek.

Alec promises and Sam lets him go. Dean lets him go, too, a whole three inches forward before he grabs one of his hands and pulls him back down the stairs, to the couch, where Ben is wide-eyed and waiting with his lip tucked under his teeth. Alec wants to tell him not to worry. He wants to apologize for making it worse because this is his brother, his Ben, and he's starting to understand exactly how that crazy head works. Alec wants to tell him that it's okay, that just because Alec is an asshole doesn't mean Ben is an asshole, but he can't because he's being lifted into the air and dumped unceremoniously onto the scratchy couch cushions.

And now he's watching Dean's thumb trail over Ben's lip, listening to the growl give way to a soft, "Lay down, Benny. M'not mad. Not at anybody."

Ben slides down until his head hits the pillow, until his body sinks under the blanket and Alec wants to crawl under there with him. Alec wants to not to be here right now, feeling six-years-old and helpless with Dean crouching down next to the couch, looking at him with eyes that can burn a hole.

Alec stares back and wills himself not to combust. Dean's never looked at him this way before. This is a horrible way to look at someone as adorable as Alec.

And that's a thought. Alec juts out his lower lip and bats his eyes.

The sigh of defeat is almost immediate and he fights the triumphant smirk trying to conquer his face, but not for long. He's in a surrendering sort of mood now, after all.

"Dude, that was…" Dean trails off. Dean apparently doesn't know what that was.

"Naughty?"

Something glorious shoots through his heart when Dean's lips twitch. "Yeah, and not in the fun way." A large palm comes to rest on his stomach, fingers tapping rhythmically over his T-shirt and he puts his hand over Dean's, stills it, dances his own digits down to pick at the leather sleeve.

"You're not going now, though…right?"

"We need the money, buddy. Sam's gonna-"

"I don't _care_. Just because Sam's here doesn't mean you can leave." Dean doesn't get it. Dean doesn't get it at all. He doesn't understand, even after seven days in Hell, how fucking vigilant they are, how they know. They'll always know and they'll always be wearing a mask that says they don't, the fuckers, and there'll only be one of them but they only have to press a button or make a call, and then there will be tens of them, hundreds of them, a world of them.

All waiting for Dean and Dean's brother, and the kids with Dean's face.

"I'll be back before three. You won't even know I'm gone. I want you to try to sleep-"

"Fuck you."

Dean's eyes are the size of plates and his mouth falls open in shock. Ben kicks Alec's leg underneath the blanket.

"What did you just say to-"

"You heard me."

Dean totally heard him, and he tilts his head to the side and aims those eyes back on Alec, the ones that are going to set Alec on fire this time, he just knows it, but that's fine. He's okay with that, because if Dean's looking at Alec with those eyes, that means Dean's here, Dean in his jacket that smells like Dean, and Alec can breathe it in for as long as he wants, knowing that neither the man nor his scent will be drowning in blood anytime soon.

"You don't want to go to sleep right now?" Dean looks like the lion again. Maybe they chose him for a reason. "That's fine, kid. You don't have to go to sleep right now. You and I can take a little trip into the kitchen or the bathroom or anywhere where your brother doesn't have to listen to you getting it."

"Getting what?"

"It."

"Dad, that's a really dubious threat. I have the feeling you don't even know what 'it' is."

Green eyes narrow. Alec doesn't flinch.

"Oh, I know what 'it' is," Dean says, but the lie is so thick, it's almost tangible. Alec can practically smell it, it's like smoke in the air, but this time he doesn't smirk. This time there's no satisfaction in triumph or defeat, war or surrender, because Dean's unhappy. Unhappy with Alec. Unhappy, but still here. Still alive.

"Dean." Sam's standing over them. Alec didn't even see him come down the stairs.

"Can't you see I'm in the middle of something here?"

Sam snorts. "What? Idle threats?"

"Your face is an idle threat."

Sam's face may be an idle threat, but his hands are reaching down, pulling Dean to a standing position, and then he's dragging his brother into the kitchen amid grunts and growls, promising Alec and Ben that Dean will be back, they just need a second to talk, is all.

There's a hot foot pressed hard against Alec's leg as he strains to hear the conversation.

"Alec, how could you say that to-"

"Shut up. M'tryin' to listen." He tries to tell himself he doesn't feel bad about the hurt pinching his brother's face. Ben knows exactly how Alec could snap two measly words at Dean, and he knows exactly why. Useless questions are useless and Alec needs this silence right now, needs to hear the quiet voices in the other room saying things like, "_He said the same thing to me yesterday. He just doesn't want you to leave._"

But the already low volume sinks as the exchange progresses, and Alec nudges Ben with his own foot, mutters a quiet, but sincere apology because Ben shouldn't have to worry. Not about anything. Especially not about things that Alec's said or done.

"It's okay. I know he won't..."

"He won't." Alec doesn't know what Ben thinks Dean will do exactly, but he knows Dean won't do it. He doesn't even have to believe it this time. "You know how I know?"

Ben's rubbing the blanket between his fingers, casting his eyes down. "How do you know?"

"I know because you wouldn't. You wouldn't leave me on the side of the road just 'cause I told you to go fuck yourself, would you?" Alec doesn't even give him the time to respond. "You wouldn't. It'd kill you to do that. That's how I know it would kill Dean, too. 'Cause you're him and you need like he needs."

Alec hates having to say this shit, but Ben needs to hear it. He can't make himself see it or feel it or believe it, so Alec just has to pound it into him until the day he finally gets it, until the day they can finally move on and get back to what they used to be. Well…without the teeth pilferage, anyway.

Ben looks like it might be sinking in just a little and it looks like he might even be getting ready to respond, but then he drops back underneath the blanket because the door's opening and Dean's sauntering out, scrubbing a tired hand over his tired face as he reattaches himself to the side of the couch.

"I'm going to be back by three," he says. "Your Uncle Sam's going to stay with you and you're going to be right here when I get back. Right where I put you. We clear?"

No. No. No, no, no.

Alec's hand may be small, but it's strong as fuck, and he grabs Dean in a fistful of plaid and pulls. Dean stumbles and tries to regain his balance before falling onto the couch, falling onto Alec, but he doesn't, and Alec doesn't even notice the extra weight or the furious coloring of Dean's skin, he just creeps out from underneath it, yanks his leg away from the abrupt attempt to stop him because it's not over and he's not willing to lose this completely. He's not willing to lose everything.

"Okay, that's fucking it," Dean snarls. Dean's a snarler. That's okay, because Alec is, too.

"You're a fucking _moron."_

Long arms shoot out and suddenly Alec's in a trap, restrained, like he was on that table not too long ago, that table that was clinical and cold and there were needles but there aren't needles now. Dean is a warm body and he's not stationary in the least because they're falling to the floor in a tangle of limbs, big and small, and Alec's kind of sad that it had to come to this. This was never supposed to get violent, after all.

"Dean?" Sam's standing over them. Sam's a giant. "Are you six?"

"Apparently." Dean grits the words out between his teeth. Alec's tempted to elbow him in the ribs, but he's too nice for that. Right now, anyway.

"Yeah? Alec, how old are you, kiddo? Are you three?"

"M'_ten_."

"You _are_?"

"Stop patronizing us, Uncle Sam. You're not funny and we're in the middle of something here."

"Yeah, Sammy. Shove off."

Sam doesn't shove off. He stands there and watches them with crossed arms until they tire themselves out, until the struggle fades away slowly, leaving Dean panting on his back with Alec sprawled limply over his body, heavy and solid like a dead weight.

"They'll shoot you. They'll shoot you in the head," Alec says. Dean's heart is beating fast. Alec can feel it under his shoulder blade, pumping away. "They'll shoot you or they'll take you away and shoot you later. Either way, we'll never see you again."

"Alec?" Sam's using his gentle voice, the one he uses when he's trying to calm Ben down after a nightmare or a lapse, when Dean's too wound up or wrecked from seeing things that are too fucked up to think about, when Alec's talking about_ them_ and the things they did when he was…there. "That's not going to happen."

"Why not? It happened before. It could happen at any time. They could come charging in here anytime and take us back or kill us all or just take me and Ben and kill you and Dean and Bobby. Right in front of us. Because that's what they do when they think we need to be put in our place."

That's what they do.

Dean's breath catches. "M'not gonna let that-"

"You already did."

The room's silent aside from the breathing. There's a lot of breathing going on. Alec aches with what he just said, with what he knows Dean now feels because it's not true, it's not Dean's fault. Dean didn't have to do any of this and Alec knows it. Dean doesn't owe him or Ben or even Sam anything. He can leave now if he wants to, can go off and drink some booze and fuck some people over in games of pool or poker, can perform adult acts with attractive female drifters because he hasn't done that in a long ass time and Alec knows it.

_I'm sorry_, he wants to say.

"I'm sorry," Dean says, wrapping an arm around Alec, bracing him as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. "I'm so sorry and I'll never let it happen again, but we can't live in a goddamn hole, either. They're not gonna get you again, I promise."

"It's not about me-"

"I'm not gonna let them get me, either. I'm not gonna let anyone get me."

Alec slides off Dean's lap as the man rises to his feet. He takes the hand when it's offered and walks to the couch when he's led there. He waits as the blanket's shirked back and doesn't resist when Dean lifts him and dumps him back in that place, Alec's place. The place where he stays because Dean put him there.

"Take an extra gun. Or an extra knife," Alec mumbles. "Take both."

Dean nods. "I'll have my phone on the whole time. If you need me."

"Don't talk to strangers unless they're heavily-tattooed and have dirt under their nails. Make sure their boots are scuffed, and I'm not talking recently." Even then, it's questionable.

Dean looks amused by this instruction, but he nods again, smirks, starts pulling off his jacket and for one hopeful moment, Alec thinks he's going to stay.

The leather's heavy, draped over his small body like an extra-thick blanket and Alec pulls one of his arms out from under it, curls it around the sleeve like he would if he were hugging his plush canine progeny.

"Hang onto it for me," Dean says.

"S'cold outside."

"I've got another."

"Take Sam with you."

"No. He stays with you."

"Bobby, then, if he's still fast enough."

"Don't let him hear you say that."

Alec's smarter than that. "I'm smarter than that."

"You are," Dean agrees, placing a hand on top of Alec's head. "And when I get enough money to get us out of here, we can go wherever you and Benny want for a while, okay? M'gonna buy you guys waffles and pie."

"Boston cream pie?"

"That's a cake, kitten."

"I don't care."

"If we can find it, I'll get you some Boston cream pie."

"That's what I like to hear."

That's what Alec likes to hear and he bites his tongue to keep from protesting any more, tightens his arms around the sleeve to keep them from throwing themselves around Dean's neck when the guy reaches down again, when he touches Alec in the same way Alec touches glass that he doesn't want to break. Alec closes his eyes and listens to the soft shift of Dean's boots as they move him down to Ben's side of the couch, listens to the, "Hey, Trouble. Look at you being so quiet," followed immediately by the insecure hitch in Ben's breath and Dean's assurance that it's funny because it's ironic.

Alec presses his ear into his pillow and tries to block out the sounds of Ben's tearful admission that he won't be able to sleep, that he thinks maybe he and Alec should go with Dean and he's sorry, he's sorry for even suggesting it, he'll…he'll go to bed and be quiet and-

"You never have to apologize to me for anything, sweetheart. Especially not for wanting to have my back." But they still can't go, and Dean leaves eventually after muttering orders to Sam to not stray too far from the couch. Not that Sam needs to hear them. He settles himself down on the floor as soon as Dean's gone, with his back to the center of the furniture where Alec's legs cross with Ben's, and he tells them not to worry, that Dean's going to be okay, that Sam knows this. He's known Dean for twenty-six years, twenty-three of which he was cognizant, and nothing's ever taken his brother down twice.

Alec buries himself in the jacket and inhales, tucks his leg under his brother's and waits for that moment when Dean waltzes back into the house with his pockets full of paper money and no limbs missing.

* * *

The snowball fight is short and merciless and the air is cold against Ben's cheeks, flushing them pink as he runs and dodges, tackles Dean down because he's not thinking, he doesn't have to think, he's high on this. There's a smattering of frozen white powder quickly melting on his right hand and his heart is beating fast and Dean's laughing, honest-to-God laughing, and looking up at Ben with eyes that are tired, but fond, and for once, Ben feels like maybe it was all just a really bad dream. None of it was real, none of those terrible things that crept into his head and took up residence.

"You win, Benny," Dean says, and he reaches up and pats one of Ben's legs, which are straddling his torso.

_I'm sorry_. The words are tattooed in invisible ink on Ben's tongue, he swears it, but he's not going to let them show themselves because Dean will look sad. And Ben never wants Dean to look sad.

"I win," he says instead. "I reign victorious."

Alive. Ben's alive and Dean's smiling and today is a good day.

"You totally do, kid."

They sit like that, Ben in his victory and Dean in his defeat, until Dean suddenly tilts to the side and dumps Ben into the snow and then there are fingers, fingers that are ridiculous and vicious and Ben tries to squirm away from them but he can't and he's laughing and laughing's not allowed, they tell you to shut up if you laugh and no, he's not thinking this because he's not there and this is Dean and Dean wants him to laugh and he's laughing and-

Dean's flying away, toppling into the snow and Alec's the victorious one.

"Kitten reigns supreme," Alec sighs happily, pinning Dean's arms to the ground and licking his teeth like he just swallowed a bird. "This is the way it always ends."

It wasn't the way it ended last night, but Alec seems to be forgetting that, forgetting the way he disappeared under Dean's jacket and tried to stay still even though Ben could feel the trembling of his legs up until three-oh-five in the morning, when Dean came home to accusations of gross negligence and child abandonment.

Dean snorts and moves his head, snow falling from his hair to the ground as his eyes fight to find Sam, who's talking to Bobby in the distance about something or other. A new case, maybe. Ben's pretty sure they're leaving here soon and he doesn't know how to feel about that.

"Hey, Gargantua!" The holler is enough to get Alec to release one of Dean's hands in favor of covering the loud mouth.

"What?"

But Dean's already got what he needs, he's got his leverage, and Alec's flipped back into the snow, big hands holding his wrists to the ground, before he can so much as say, "How dare you."

"Nevermind! I had a little clone uprising, but I've got it under control now."

Sam rolls his eyes. Ben can see it from here and it's hilarious because Sam's always rolling his eyes and looking mildly disapproving even when he's clearly amused.

"M'lettin' you win," Alec grumbles, straining against Dean's hold. "Ben, help a brother out here."

Dean smiles wide with an open mouth and licks his teeth and looks just like Alec just did but in the reverse position, and Ben feels something crushing inside of him for a moment, something crushing and hollow and things like that aren't supposed to go together even though they are, right now, inside of him. Dean and Alec are the same and Ben is-

"Benny, help a dad out here," Dean says, and then pinches his tongue between his teeth as Alec almost squirms loose. "Duuuude."

It's not real. It can't be real. Ben's seeing things that aren't there again. Dean didn't say that. Dean wouldn't say that because Ben isn't supposed to say that and only Alec can say that and any second now those playful hands are going to rot, are going to flake in dark debris to the pretty white snow because they know what Ben is and what he doesn't have and-

"Ben, c'mon, pry 'im off of me." Alec's voice splinters his thoughts. Ben's eyes focus on his brother's wriggling form, fighting to free itself under Dean's steady weight. "I'll pay you five bucks!"

"Where're you gonna get five bucks?" Dean demands.

"Your wallet. You've got money now, don't you? Ben? Benny. Brother. _Five whole bucks_."

Ben can't do this. Ben can't do this and Dean's already trying to mask the disappointment on his face and Alec's already scowling, already snapping, "For chris_sakes_, Ben-"

"_Hey_."

And they're already done. The fun's already over.

"What? You offer a guy five bucks, he's supposed to hop-to. He's not supposed to just sit there and freak out because he can't get over some stupid fucking mind games-"

"_Alec_." Dean's voice is about as low as it ever gets, and Alec's name is almost indistinguishable from the growl that produces it.

Ben's stomach clenches as he watches the hunter get to his feet, dragging Alec up with him. Ben's always causing problems like this and he never means to and he's sorry. He's so sorry.

"M'sorry," he says.

Dean shoots him a hard look that softens almost immediately and tells him that he has nothing to be sorry for, he's done nothing wrong. But Alec has, apparently, and Dean snaps his fingers in that authoritative way he does when he's trying to get Alec, or sometimes Sam, to listen. "You. Apologize."

"He doesn't have to-"

"Good, 'cause I'm not gonna. I'm so sick of this _bullshit_, Ben."

Ben's fucked up and Alec's finally tired of it and who can blame him, anyway? Not Ben. Maybe Dean, considering he's making some kind of incomprehensible noise of rage between his teeth and kneeling down and pressing his forehead against Alec's, growling about how he needs to go inside and sit in the kitchen and wait for him because Dean's had enough of this fucking bullshit, too, thank you very much. Alec merely blinks in response and returns the glare, because he's not scared of Dean at all. Alec's not scared of anything.

"_Kid_."

But Alec doesn't leave until Dean forcefully turns him around and pushes him towards the door, with the promise to join him in a minute.

"You okay?"

Ben's fine, or as fine as ever he is, so he says, "I'm fine" and Dean swallows and nods, looks like he wants to say something else or ask something else, but he can't bring himself to. Deans aren't built for talking. Ben understands this because somewhere inside of him he understands that he, himself, is a Dean.

"Alright, then. You wanna hang out with your Uncle Sam and Bobby for a little while?"

Ben doesn't. Or he does. Ben doesn't know what he wants to do. Erase time, maybe, go back to ten minutes ago before he ruined everything, but that's impossible. Nobody can do that. The Blue Lady, she couldn't, back when she was real even though she was never real and Ben knows that now. Not even Dean could do that. Not even Alec.

"I'll hang out with Uncle Sam," he agrees, because there aren't any other options right now and Sam's pretending not to watch them even though Ben's been seeing his eyes shifting in their direction ever since Dean and Alec rose to standing positions.

"Alright," Dean says, and waits until Ben actually moves in Sam's direction before turning around and heading into the house to do whatever he's going to do to Alec. Ben wonders if the consequences will include grilled cheese, like they did last time.

"Everything alright?" Sam asks, and his arm is warm and heavy over Ben's shoulder, his blue eyes soft, and Ben's so glad that he's still here, so glad that Sam didn't leave.

"Alec…" Ben doesn't know how to explain what Alec did, how Alec feels, why this isn't Alec's fault.

"Say no more."

Ben doesn't say anymore. Neither does Sam. Neither does Bobby. They're quiet now that Ben's here and that's nerve-wracking and normally he wouldn't, but Ben has to ask, "Is there another case?" _Are you leaving us again?_

"Looks like," Sam says.

"A haunting?"

"We don't know, Benny. It might be something different this time."

"When are we leaving?" We. It has to be we.

"Don't know, yet, kiddo. Maybe in a day or two. It's not urgent."

"Where are we going?"

Bobby chuckles and it turns into a cough, then back into a chuckle again. He holds a hand over his mouth, but his breath is visible, a fog escaping through his fingers into the cold air. "Eager to get out of here, are you?"

"No, it's not that," Ben's quick to say. It isn't that. He doesn't want Bobby to think he's not grateful because Bobby's awesome. Bobby's…family. "It's just…where are we staying?"

Sam's bemused. "Ben…since when do we ever even know that?"

"It's just…there's _four_ of us. Four people need lots of space."

"I don't remember the last time we had lots of space."

"I know, but-"

"Dude, if you feel like there's not enough space, we can always make Dean sleep on the floor. Or outside. I promise you, I'll be totally fine with that."

"Okay." Relief, Ben feels it. Not that he wants Dean to be ousted for lack of space because there's no way that's ever going to happen, but Sam seems to have no plan to leave Alec and Ben behind. The problem now is that Sam is looking at him with eyes that are trying to decipher things, and Ben hates being looked at this way. Sam's going to study him for a few more seconds with those eyes and then he's going to start asking questions that he already knows the answers to and then he's going to try to talk about things.

Ben doesn't want to talk about things.

"Uncle Sam, I'm bored."

Sam's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and for a second, Ben thinks he may have just made it worse. Blue eyes look up and off to the side, lips part, trying to a form a delicate question, but then Bobby clears his throat and smacks Sam in the arm.

"He's ten, you idgit. And there's snow on the ground. I reckon finding something for him to do won't be too hard."

Sam's mouth snaps shut, but his face brightens as he looks down at Ben. "Hey, you wanna build a snowman?"

They build a snowman. Sam's really into it, his smile wide and his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright as he rolls the base with his huge hands, telling Ben that he hasn't done this for, like, twenty years, that Dean stopped doing it with him after he turned six and then it wasn't fun anymore so he's glad that he has Ben now. Ben's awesome.

"You're awesome, Benny," Sam says as Ben comes running back to him, two long twigs in his hands. "You wanna get his left side?"

Ben gets his left side, watches as Sam sticks his tongue out just a little as he judges whether or not the arms are off-kilter.

"He doesn't have a face," Ben says, because he doesn't. The snowman is composed of three snowballs of various mass and two twigs for arms. He has no face. He's blank and white and pure. "I like it."

Sam's looking at him with those eyes again.

"Benny-"

"You wanna climb the tree with me?"

"It's a bit too high for me, sweetheart."

Ben hesitates. "Can Alec come out and climb the tree with me?"

"Well, that depends on what he did, I guess."

"He didn't do anything." Alec didn't do anything. Alec just told the truth. "Can you ask Dean if Alec can come out and climb the tree with me?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

Ben's stomach plummets. He can't do that.

"Please, Uncle Sam?"

"I really think you should ask him yourself, buddy. You've been so up and down with him recently-"

"It's okay. I can climb it by myself." He can. Ben doesn't need anybody to climb the tree with him, it was just a preference, a way not to be alone. It was just a way to include Sam, but if Sam can't climb the tree, that's fine. Sam can stay down here with his prying eyes and uncomfortable questions. Ben doesn't need Alec, either. Alec can stay inside with Dean, who won't have to listen to Ben make absurd requests or question his authority.

"Ben, I just-"

But Ben's already scaling the trunk, digging his fingers and feet into the bark, on his way to that forty-foot high branch he and Alec sat on a few days ago. A few days ago, when Alec wasn't sick of Ben, yet, and Dean wasn't tired from being out all night long.

"I'll…Ben? I'll go get him, okay? Just…be careful. Don't fall."

If Ben falls, he'll land on his feet. He won't feel like he did, but he will.

He brushes snow off the branch as he creeps to the end, sits himself down facing the entrance of the salvage yard, the beat-up old sign that's been there for God knows how long. He watches Sam disappear into the house out of the corner of his eye, waits and tries not to think about how, not too long ago, this was a good day. This was a day he felt alive.

It was just a word, a positive word, something he wanted to hear but because he wanted to hear it, it can't be true. Good things don't happen. Good things are fabricated for the sole purpose of screwing with Ben's head. That's how it works. That's how they make things work.

He tries not to think about it, but it's all he can think about. Time disappears inside these thoughts.

"Hey! Ben!"

Ben looks down. Alec's on the ground, waving his arms in the air, his face alight with glee. There's something in his hand that looks like a folded piece of notebook paper and he sticks it in his mouth as he heads for the tree trunk, holds it between his teeth as he climbs, and then he's there, straddling the branch, taking the paper out of his mouth and offering it to Ben.

"What's this?"

"Just read it."

Ben looks for words, but there aren't any, just a rough pen-sketch of a long-haired person wearing a hat on one side of the folded paper.

"Open it."

Still no words - a five-dollar bill, though, that Ben snatches up before it floats away, and a pretty decent drawing of the Impala.

"Um, there aren't any words," Ben says.

"Aw. I know you're really touched and everything, but I'm sure you can dredge up something from the deep, dark recesses of your mind."

"No, Alec, I meant literally…there aren't any words. You didn't _write_ anything." He holds up the money, waves it in front of Alec's face. "Where…did you take this out of Dean's wallet?"

Alec waves a dismissive hand. "He won't miss it. Oh, and I guess I forgot to write it. It's supposed to say 'I'm sorry.' It's an _apology_ card! See the front? I drew that. It's Uncle Sam in a tiara."

"It's…awesome, but-"

"Dad drew the Impala."

Dean drew the Impala. Ben flips the paper open again, runs a finger over the carefully drawn lines.

"It's…great. But you have nothing to be sorry for. You didn't…_I'm_ sorry."

"Dude, don't be an idiot. You're traumatized and I know you're traumatized and I snapped at you about it, anyway. It's not your fault you're a whiny little bastard sometimes. _They_ did it to you. They did it to me, too, it's just that I'm willing to accept things for what they are and you're just…"

Alec can't bring himself to say it. That's okay. Ben can say it for him.

"Messed up?"

"Kinda. They mixed you all up. That's not your fault, though. I'll get you thinking straight again one of these days."

They go quiet. Alec starts inching the snow off the branch, watching it fall to the ground, and then he can't stand the quiet anymore. Alec can never stand the quiet for too long. "Hey, I'm sorry there's no glitter, by the way. I really wanted to put some glitter on it to make Uncle Sam extra shiny, but Bobby doesn't have any."

"Glitter?"

"Yeah, you know, that sparkly junk in the tubes they had at that drug store next to all the colored markers and shit? I should've snagged some while I had the chance. It was…it was_ delightful_. Think about how great the apology card would have been then."

"It's great without it," Ben tells him, and he means it. The card is perfect just the way it is, even without glitter. Even without words.

"Yeah, well…it's got my spit on the crease of it now, so I guess it _is_ great. And if you look really closely, on Uncle Sam's cheek you'll see a damp spot that's all dried up. That was one of Dad's tears of mirth. He thinks Uncle Sam in a tiara is a truly hilarious joke. And our DNA is worth a lot, you know. You'll probably be able to sell it on the Internet one of these days for a plentiful sum of money. You know, if you want." Alec swipes some more snow off the branch. "But you're gonna keep it forever, right?"

Of course he is. "Of course I am. I think I'm, uh…going to give the money back to Dean, though."

"Yeah," Alec agrees. "He'll probably appreciate that."

"Yeah."

Alec starts talking after that, babbling about insignificant things like Boston cream pie to keep the silence away and Ben listens to his voice even as the words fade into nonsense. The sun's getting low. It'll be dark in a few hours and Ben will have to go back into the house, will have to give the money back to Dean, will have to meet Dean's eyes and try not to look away and make him sad again, for the millionth time. Ben needs to stop this. Ben needs his head not to be messed up anymore.

"I mean, if it's a cake, why do they call it a pie? Boston sits on a throne of lies, Ben. I think maybe I'm going to have to ditch the entire idea of getting Boston cream pie in favor of boysenberry pie, because boysenberry is a funny word. _Boysen_berry-"

Ben doesn't know how readily available compound fruits are anymore, but he hopes his brother gets his boysenberry pie. Alec deserves whatever he wants because he keeps holding them all together, stops them from breaking apart and getting killed and killing each other and all that other shi-…stuff.

He listens to Alec's babble, but allows his eyes to stray past his twin's face. The sign at the entrance to Bobby's home and place of business is tall and derelict, but familiar now. Ben's not sure how he feels about leaving it, about going past it, about looking back through the windshield and watching it fade away into the distance. There's Bisquick here, and a stove where Dean showed Ben how to make pancakes. There are bruises that faded away and tears that they hid and tears that they didn't and bad dreams, horrific dreams made okay when they woke up because they were just dreams and everything was in place when their eyes opened, even if there were angry words and angry fists being thrown around and Ben hated that. He hated it. He hated that Sam tried to walk out the door in the middle of the night with no set plan on coming back, with no thought to what would happen to him when he went past that sign. He hated that Dean did the same, just last night, and Ben was sure he would never come back, was sure that they would go into town the next day and find Dean's blood on the dirty floor of some bar, but they didn't because Dean came back. Dean always comes back.

"I hear they have awesome key lime pie in Florida…"

Alec's still going. Alec will never stop. Ben keeps looking at the sign, at the shadows it casts, at the birds that flutter down and perch on it to rest their wings. The sign is calm and stagnant, unchanging, and it won't leave until someone knocks it down and takes it away. Ben kind of wants that. Ben kind of wants to be that, to just stand there and let life tear him down slowly, year after year, as long as he has a place to stand. He can let the people walk past him, coming and going so long as they're not bothering him. Like that lady walking past the sign right now. She's not bothering it at all.

She's just a person walking past a sign in the late afternoon. With sunglasses covering her face.

"A-Alec?"

"…pecan pie is a Southern delicacy-"

"_Alec_."

Alec stops, and looks to where Ben's now pointing, to the woman with the small quirk to her lips, hair long and dark, but pinned up.

"L-lots of people have sunglasses."

It's her. Ben knows it's her.

"I know it's her."

He knows it's her when she walks under and slightly past the tree, hips sashaying as she goes, the movement pulling the collar of her shirt down and…he's not imagining it. It's there. He knows it's there because Alec's breathing in a way that indicates that it's there and that's how he knows for sure that it's her. He knows it's her when he jumps off the branch, plummets to the ground and takes her down with him.

He knows it's her when he hammers her face with his small fists, dirtying his skin and the snow with her blood.


	28. Cracks & Water

**The Wellspring**

_Chapter Twenty-Eight - Cracks & Water_

_

* * *

_

The first time Sam said his name, Dean was eating a cheeseburger. He remembers it well: the shoddy motel room, the wood chipping away from the table, Dad passed out on one of the beds with a hand over his face like he couldn't bear to be there, existing in that moment even while he was unconscious. And then there was Sam, crawling around on that gross-ass carpet in nothing but his stupid little diaper, stopping when he came to the chair where Dean was sitting, swinging his legs and eating the child-sized burger hot out of his Happy Meal, not willing to stop his consumption even to give the baby a glance. And then it happened. "_Dea_." And it was amazing.

The first time Dad said he was sorry, Dean had ice cream in his mouth. Granted, the apology never actually entered the air, but Dad looked at him with regretful eyes as Sam dozed in his lap, even reached across the table to ruffle Dean's unwashed hair and ask, "Maybe you should get an early night tonight, huh, champ?" to which Dean blinked and nodded and mumbled a "maybe" through a mouthful of vanilla and sprinkles.

The first time Dean realized he was going to lose his brother, it was toast. Cold toast, shoved in his mouth as he shuffled through the mail, dropped an envelope, picked it back up, and there it was. Dean never swallowed that toast.

And the first time Dean hears his kid scream "Dad!" like the sky is crashing down on him, it's bacon. Fresh-out-of-Bobby's-frying-pan bacon and it's fucking delicious, but he doesn't swallow that, either. Because his kid is screaming. And Dean's legs are moving and his hand is pulling his gun out of his jeans and he can't even fucking think.

He's out the door and in the snow and skidding to a halt in front of that tree, that stupid tree they insist on climbing and he was expecting broken bones and blood and maybe tears, but that's not what happened. That's not what's going on here, even if there is red splattered across the white ground and his boys aren't in the tree anymore. Alec's on his feet, pale as anything, and Ben's on his knees, pounding the living shit out of...holy fucking God,_ her_. And she's not moving.

"_Sam_!"

But Sam and Bobby are already running past them, towards the entrance of the junkyard with shotguns in their hands.

"Benny. Ben, stop."

Ben's not stopping. She's not moving. Dean's handing his gun over to Alec with the order to "keep it trained on her" and then he's got his arms around Ben, is pulling, but the kid's pulling right back, pulling away from Dean, and this isn't the way it's supposed to be. He's not supposed to pull away. He's not supposed to be on his knees with a blank face and rhythmic fists, hammering out the violence like a machine because this is exactly what they wanted. And Dean doesn't want what they want.

"Benny, _no_. C'mon. Come with me." And he's pulling and muttering these words fast and sharp into the kid's ear, but Ben doesn't seem to hear him. He's locked himself to the ground, has resigned himself to the flooding nose and bleeding mouth and swelling eyes of this woman. He's gonna keep going until he kills her, and Dean can't let that happen. Ben's right here, but he's already so far away, it's like Dean can barely see him or feel him. If he kills her, he'll be gone forever.

He gets a handle on the kid's limbs and tries to still them, folds them, yanks back and then he's up and Ben's in his arms, flailing like a wild thing and he's finally making noise, is snarling and shrieking and kicking and Dean's gonna lose him. Dean's gonna drop him because he's strong, but he's not this strong. He's not Ben-strong or Alec-strong and he doesn't, he can't…

"You wanna hurt me?" It's hard getting the words out. This kid is taking everything out of him. "You wanna hurt me, Ben? You're about to. You're gonna hurt me if you don't stop."

Ben doesn't want to hurt Dean. The limbs slow, the snarls and shrieks fade into a heavy breathing and eventually, Ben stops. Ben goes limp in Dean's tired arms and Dean's so fucking relieved for just the second that he's got a handle on _this_. Just this. Because God knows what the fuck else is out there right now or what they're going to have to do to stop it.

He sets his boy down. Ben's crying. Or not really crying. There are tears, though, slipping down his little cheeks, from exertion or rage or both, probably both, and Dean swipes them away with a quick hand before reaching out to Alec.

"C'mere, kitten. Gimme the gun."

Alec doesn't move. Alec keeps pointing the barrel at the motionless, bleeding form in the snow and Dean feels something heavy drop inside of him.

"Alec? Give me the gun."

The kid doesn't even say no. He was full of no last night._ No. I won't._ Not today, though. Not right now. Alec doesn't even hear him right now, doesn't see him, because his eyes are on his target and his eyes are dangerous and so is his finger on that trigger and Dean's about to lose his innocence all over again.

"Alec, give. Me. The. Gun."

The kid's hand wavers a little, but his stare is hard and steady, and for a moment, Dean thinks this is it. He's going to lose them both, lose it all, lose every chance he's ever had to make his life seem somewhat okay again, to be worthwhile, because he's not going to be able to stop it, to erase it, to make it better. They're not going to get better. _He's_ not going to get better. They'll stay caught in this spiral of a never-ending fucked-up childhood, trying to climb out and failing every time because their hands are slippery with blood, stinging from too much fire, and it never ends. Mom on the ceiling. Dad on a bender. Test-tube babies ripping another human apart.

And then Alec sighs and hands him the gun.

Dean would go limp with relief if he could. But he can't.

"Good boy," he says, but Alec doesn't look at him and Sam and Bobby are running back, stopping when they reach them.

"We didn't see anything," Sam says, his eyes going from the bleeding girl on the ground to Benny, who's still breathing hard, who's still got those angry tears coming out of his eyes, and finally, to Dean. "She alive?"

"She's playing dead." Alec's voice is soft, but cold. Dean can't help but remember forty minutes ago, when this same kid was bright-eyed and gleeful over the concept of homemade cards. "She's breathing."

"Cover me," Dean says, looking to Bobby and Sam and then he kneels down, feels for a moment like he's going to regret this, and touches two fingers to her wrist. There's a pulse, and when he looks at her face, her lip twitches. "I think it's time to stop playing games, don't you?"

No response. Dean digs his gun into her side. She takes in a sharp breath.

"I said, _don't you_?" There's no time for this shit. If she's not going to talk, he's going to kill her. He'll do it this time, because this bitch took everything. _Everything_. Alec can't go twelve hours without pausing and seeing all this terrible shit, over and over again in his little head. And Ben...Ben can't even look at Dean like he used to, can't say the name, can't hear the name, and he can't even fucking cry right anymore. He used to cry all the time, and he used to go to Dean while he did it and now it's just...it's nothing but angry water. Angry water that wants nothing to do with Dean.

And Sam...Sam almost left him again.

"I'm alone." The words come out in a hoarse crackle. "I came alone. Please..."

"Why should we believe you?" Dean asks.

"Because they're not out there, are they?"

"They could be somewhere else." Dean cocks his gun, presses it more firmly into her. She squeaks and shudders. "They could be somewhere else, waiting for your snappy little go-ahead."

"They're n-not. I came alone and if they find me, they'll kill me, too. I was useless to begin with and now...I came to help you. You and your funny brother and your little soldiers."

"Funny brother?" Sam's indignant whisper sounds like it was intended to be more of a simple mouthing of the words. Dean would turn around smirk at him if this situation wasn't so dire.

"I repeat, why should we believe you?"

"I don't know? Because what I'm telling you is true, I guess, and I have nothing else."

Dean searches her face with his eyes, takes in the worried expression underneath the blood and the bruises, the way her eyes are shifting around even though she's flat on her back and all she can see is sky.

_I'm not supposed to talk._

She can't lie. They don't let her talk. Dean remembers now. They don't let her talk because she can't lie and...

Dean's not taking any chances.

"Search her and tie her up," he says, uncocking his gun and getting to his feet. "M'takin' the boys upstairs. I'll be down in a second and we'll...we'll see what we can get out of her."

Ben doesn't resist when Dean takes his hand, but he doesn't react, either. Dean doesn't feel any pressure from the small fingers, no indication that Ben's actually aware, that he's actually feeling him. Alec digs his heels in, watches Sam and Bobby heft the girl up with their hands under her arms. She can barely walk, and her eyelids flutter like she's about to pass out and then she smiles. _Smiles_. Dean wonders if his little boy hits hard enough to cause brain damage.

"I'm going to stay down here." Alec's voice is quiet and firm and final, his eyes not leaving their stumbling capture. "To help interrogate the prisoner."

Prisoner. That's what they were…that's what Sam and Dean were at Manticore, what Alec and Ben were, too, even if they weren't called that. Manticore takes prisoners. Winchesters don't.

"She's not a prisoner, Alec. And I need you upstairs."

"If she's not a prisoner, then what is she?"

"She's…" Dean doesn't know what she is. "She's the person who's going to tell us things we need to know."

"I'm still staying down here."

"I need you upstairs."

Dean can almost see the flames licking upwards from the bottoms of Alec's pupils when the boy fixes him with a glare. "Well, tough shit. I'm staying down here and I'm going to find out what's going on. You're not going to treat me like I'm too fucking young or too fucking stupid because it's my life, too. _Mine_. And I need to know how far we need to run and how low to the ground we need to stay. I need to _know_."

Angry water. They're both full of angry fucking water, and Dean doesn't have the time to catch all of it. He tries, though. He crouches down with Ben's hand still in his own, tells Sam and Bobby to take her inside, just give him a minute and they'll get on with it.

Just as soon as he…

"Dude…Alec, I know, I just…" Alec's eyes are little green fountains and Dean's fingers are inadequate basins, wet and sticky and oh, Jesus fucking God, this kid. "I know, kitten. I'll tell you everything. I promise, okay? Cross my heart."

"I need to be there."

"I know you do. I know, but I need you upstairs. I need you…" Christ. This is the last thing he ever wanted to say. "I need you to look after your brother for me."

Ben's hand twitches. Dean squeezes it.

"I don't need anyone lookin' after me," the boy says, and his voice is nearly dead, but there's still something sharp around its edges.

Dean swallows, turns, drops the hand from Alec's cheek to the kid's shoulder as he looks at Ben, Ben who's actually meeting his eyes for once. "Yeah, you do. You do and that's okay, 'cause you won't always. But right now, you can't be near her and I can't leave you alone."

Ben wrenches his hand away from Dean's hold with a fierce enough tug to throw him off balance. He falls to his ass in the snow, feels the wet and the cold seep through his jeans.

"I looked after myself long before any of you came along."

Dean remembers an hour ago, Benny's warm weight on top of him, the smiling face and the tentative declaration of victory. This is a different kid. This kid is a cracked egg, seeping out of his shell.

Dean gets to his feet, reaches a hand out towards his wayward boy. "C'mere." Ben doesn't come and Dean hates himself a little for what he says next, but there's no time. There's no time for this. Not right now. "Don't make me tell you twice."

Orders. Dean remembers that week of his life, when he was twelve-years-old and on the brink of puberty, that week he decided he didn't want to take orders anymore. And Dad…

_Don't make me tell you twice._

Never. Dean would never make Dad tell him twice. The simple thought still chills him because Dad…back then, Dad was God, or what Dean thought God would be if there was a God. Dad was the thing that made Dean, that kept him alive, that sometimes looked at him with I'm-proud-of-you eyes and made it go away. All of it. All of that hate inside of Dean burning him like acid because he couldn't get it out.

Good little soldiers do what their dads tell them. And they never make them tell them twice, even when they're flinching at the words, even when their eyes are wild and terrified, their jaws clenched tight with resentment, and inside it's burning like a forest on fire, the need for those eyes to tell them you're worth the trouble, kid. You're worth something to me.

Ben grabs Dean's hand.

They go inside and up the stairs, avoiding the dining room on the way, because that's where they are. Bobby, Sam, and…her. And Dean's boys don't need to see her. Not anymore. Not again.

He deposits them in Bobby's bedroom, tries to swallow down the pain when Ben jerks away from him, climbs on the bed and backs up against the headboard, bringing his knees up to his chin and wrapping his arms around his little legs.

Alec stands at Dean's toes, tilts his head back and peers up at him in a wash of leery green. "You'll kill her, right?"

Dean's throat goes dry. Sam told him all about that conversation, how Alec said he wanted them all dead. Except Sam described it more as a pissing contest over who was darker on the inside, not…not this, this reality of the words "kill her" coming out of a baby's mouth.

"I'll do whatever I have to do to keep you safe."

"Which means you'll kill her."

"Which means I'll kill her if I have to, but I'm not killin' anyone who doesn't need to be killed."

"If you don't, I will."

Dean misses the kid from an hour ago, the sullen face, the dragging feet, the obstinate shake of the adorable head that made him feel all of fourteen again. Fourteen, when Dean was in charge, and in control because Dad said so and Dean did what Dad said. Dean was what Dad told him to be. Fourteen and nine. Or ten. Sam was nine or ten when he used to listen to Dean.

Now Dean's thirty and nobody's telling him what he is or what he's supposed to do. And he was nine once, nine or ten, and not innocent at all, but he was more innocent than this. More innocent than_ if you don't, I will,_ more innocent than pointing guns at girls with a finger trembling with indecision on the trigger.

Less innocent than having someone take the gun away. Less innocent than hand-holding or lap-sitting or jacket-stealing. Less innocent than Batman underwear.

Dean's innocence is a tipping scale. He has to keep the weight on the right end.

"You won't. You're not killin' anyone."

Alec's eyes are a brewing storm. "If you don't-"

"Then you won't. You're gonna stay right here."

The boy clenches his fists and looks away and lifts his foot off the ground for a lingering moment. Dean waits for the kid to kick him in the leg, but it doesn't happen. The foot drops back down, the eyes situate themselves back on Dean's face.

"You're bossy," Alec says.

"You're a lot like your Uncle Sam," Dean replies, because it's true. It's always a war with this kid. "I'll be back up as soon as I can."

He turns around. Then stops, looks over his shoulder because he knows better than this. He knows from experience that you don't leave tiny Dean Winchester-shaped kids filled with fear and crushed by responsibility. "Benny?" Ben looks up, green eyes peeking over his knees. "Look after your brother for me?"

Alec's head tilts to the side and he eyes Dean from under narrowed lids. "I don't _need_-"

"Yeah, you do," Dean cuts him off. "Just as much as he does." He drifts a hand over Alec's head one last time before exiting the room. He shuts the door behind him with his stomach at his feet and guilt in his throat.

She starts fidgeting when he steps into the dining room, fidgeting in that hard chair, her upper body and ankles bound by ropes knotted by capable and experienced hands. Dean doesn't want to think about how many times they've been here, or how fucked up he always feels when there's a girl restrained and pleading. It's the visual. The visual is all wrong. Even if she's murderous. Even if there's something inside of her making her inhuman and Dean hates this fucking job, even if this isn't about the job. Not this time. This is about his boys.

"Please-"

"Shut up." He can't listen to it, and Sam and Bobby are both looking distinctly uncomfortable and a little pale, like they've just seen or heard something disturbing.

"It's about goddamn time," Bobby grunts, but it's not malicious, just tired and impatient and Dean doesn't blame him. Bobby shouldn't have to deal with all of their shit.

"I had to get 'em settled. I don't want them down here." He won't apologize for it. Bobby doesn't expect him to, either, considering the way he's nodding his head.

"Dean." Sam's quiet and earnest and there's something in his hands that Dean didn't notice before.

"What's that?" he asks.

"It's a polaroid."

"I thought they stopped manufacturing polaroid film last-"

"Dean."

Right. That's not what this is about. This is serious time and Dean has to be serious and he is serious, he feels like there's something large and murderous swimming around in his stomach, in fact, like fucking Jaws or something and he can even hear that scary ass music in his head while it's doing it, while she sits there bleeding and trying not to cry, and the kids are upstairs, tense and waiting for that moment to run; while Sam and Bobby are right here, their faces wearing that familiar expression of exasperation because why is he going off-topic now of all times? Why does Dean ever go off-topic.

He holds out his hand and takes the offered photograph.

He swallows down the vomit and raises an eyebrow.

"I thought you'd need photographic evidence," she says, and he never noticed how high-pitched her voice was before. It's soft now, like a whistle in the breeze, and it's creepy - the hairs on the back of his neck are standing up like they do when he's stupid and alone and wherever he went off to without Sam is empty. And something dead is nearby.

Something dead is in front of his eyes.

It's red and green and brown and he barely notices the form or the flesh because all he sees is the blood, the blood leaking out of the hands he shot holes into, and the blood he had nothing to do with. The blood in the grass and the slack body against the bark of the tree, facedown in the dirt and it's not like Dean's never seen a dead body before. It's not like he's never seen a picture of a dead body before, but this...it's making him nauseous, because she's over there in that chair, creeping him the fuck out, and that shark in his stomach is a shapeshifter, shifting into nothing but a feeling of sick satisfaction.

He wants so badly to pretend its real.

"Who sent you?" he asks.

"I came alone," she says, and she sounds nervous now. "I told you, I came alone."

"This is fake." He shoves the polaroid at Sam, pulls his gun out of his pants and stalks over to her, leans in close. "Tell me it's real."

"It's real," she whispers.

"Dean." Sam's shaking his head. "Dean, it's not fake."

"They're the _government_, Sam. They probably have polaroid film up the freakin' whazoo."

"It's not fake," his brother repeats. "The picture...it's not..." Sam trails off, sharp eyes scanning the image for what is most likely the hundredth time in the past five minutes, keeps shaking his head. "It's not shopped. It's not digital and it hasn't been rendered on here...it's real."

"Then it's staged." He looks her in the eyes and now they're so close their foreheads are almost touching. But they're not touching. Dean doesn't want to touch her. "You staged it, didn't you? Staged it with him."

"No."

It's not real. It can't be real. She's playing them.

She can't lie.

But she's lying. She has to be lying, because Dean can't believe her. If he believes her and she's lying, that's when the door opens. That's when this precarious and vulnerable situation explodes into something they can't handle, something they'll never escape from and Alec and Ben...they'll hate him forever. They'll hate him forever and they'll have every right to because he failed them. And Sam. They'll take Sam and he'll be a lab rat, held down by guns and sedatives, every precaution taken so that dangerous fucking head of his won't blow up their entire operation.

And it'll all be Dean's fault. The destruction of his family and what they were and what they'll never be.

He cocks his gun. Her sob is silent and the tears are few, but she doesn't resist, she doesn't fight or strain against the ropes binding her to the chair, doesn't flinch when he sticks the barrel under her chin, and murmurs, "He won't call me Dad anymore."

"I'm sorry," she says. "I don't know what that is."

"Dean." Sam's behind him. "Dean, stop."

Dean ignores him. "You led them here."

"I didn't," she insists. "They're not here. They're not here because I didn't bring them."

"You led them here and they took us away and bad things happened. He was getting better. He was getting so much better."

"I'm sorry."

"You don't know what that means."

"It means...I wish I didn't. I wish I never. I wish I wasn't."

"But you are and you did. You caused it. You led those sons of bitches right to us and now they're all messed up in their little heads. Kids that little should never be so messed up."

She's trembling now, and the tears are rapid. She tries to blink them away and her voice rings like a broken siren, "But you got them out. You got your little soldiers out."

"They're not soldiers. They're too fucking little to be soldiers." Soldiers are big. They're big and strong and they lift you when you're small enough to lift, kiss the side of your head and look at you with adoring eyes before touting you off to that place where you dream, where your mother joins you later and tells you not to worry because the angels are watching over you. Soldiers don't break or burn in the fire. They live. And they don't expect you to be what they are, or should be. Not when you're too fucking little to be a soldier, and far too little to raise another. "They're just kids. They're babies."

"I killed him," she says, and now she's trying to move her head, to get the barrel out from under her chin. "I killed him for you."

"If you did kill him, then you're a killer."

Dean's flying off the handle. He can feel himself coming apart, can feel his brain sinking into the fog and his blood rushing through his body, his heart hammering away, the driving instinct to just...shoot. Shoot her. For his brother and his kids...and this man behind him, the one grabbing him by the back of the shirt and trying to pull him away. He'll shoot her for Bobby, too.

"Dean. Come on, boy. Ease up."

Dean doesn't ease up.

"Aren't you?" she asks. "Weren't you made by a man? Isn't that what he turned you into? A hunter? A killer?"

"No. That's not-"

"Dean, son." Bobby. Bobby's grizzled hand is on his hand, pushing it down, pulling it away, disentangling the gun from his grip and Dean's not stopping him. "C'mon. Step back."

Dean doesn't step back, though. He just looks at her, at her shiny eyes staring him down, the light reflecting off of her damp cheeks as she lets her head drop, at rest now that the gun is gone.

"That's what they made me," she says. "I'm what they made me to be. A hunter. Sometimes a killer. Most of the time I'm just something to be hunted. I'm just a toy used for training. I'm chased and I'm stabbed and I'm healed and then I'm chased again. I'm not like your little sol...babies. I'm not like them. I was too early. I didn't come out right, but they let me live because I wasn't like the others. I wasn't too hairy or too dumb and they could use me. They could test me until they got it right and then they could...they could try to make something out of me. And this is what they made."

This is what they made.

"And you're under this impression that I don't feel it," she continues. "That I'm not feeling it right now. I'm not your 493 or your 494 or those names that you call them. I wasn't that special. I wasn't anything more than dirt from the beginning and I'm still dirt now. Do you know what it feels like to be dirt, Dean Winchester?"

Bobby's hand is gripping his shoulder, tugging, and this time Dean steps back.

"Of course, you don't. The man that made you didn't call you by a number, did he? He didn't break your bones or touch you like you weren't real or throw you out into the field for practice for...him." She's looking at Sam. "He didn't tie you up and tell you to hold still because he needed to see the funny things your brother can do with his mind...did he?" There's hope in the end of the question. She's looking at Dean again, searching his eyes, searching for some kind of understanding, some kind of solidarity and Dean can't give it to her.

He didn't. Dad didn't...Dad wouldn't ever...The sorry eyes and the ice cream and the bedtime were rare occurrences, but they happened. They happened sometimes.

"No," Dean says. "He didn't."

"I did it for me," she tells him. "I killed him for _me_. He didn't make me, but he was the one who kept it going. It didn't stop. It didn't ever stop until he stopped breathing."

Dean doesn't know how to respond to this, so he doesn't. Not for a long time. Bobby's hand is still there, still on his shoulder and it grips him tight whenever he tenses even a little and makes to move - and Sam's so close behind him, Dean can feel his brother's breath beating down the back of his neck.

"Why now?" he finally asks. "You've been there so long. Why now?"

Something washes over her eyes, fades the shine of the tears. Disappointment. "You don't believe me. Still."

"Why now?" Dean repeats. "Why?"

"Because they got away. They got away and I thought they'd drag them back but they didn't, not until I found you...not until I brought them to you. And then they got away again. With you."

His spine is a ladder and her voice is climbing it, delicate steps like a spider's legs. "What's your point?"

"I'm not dirt. My point is that I'm not dirt. I did my job and I did it well and they still...they just kept throwing me back to those little, yapping dogs."

"Kittens," Dean mumbles.

She pauses and blinks, tilts her head a little to the side like she's trying to understand and then she just gives up. "I climbed the fence after you while they were still distracted by the jeep and I watched you. I watched you shoot holes into his hands and I thought you were going to finish it. I wanted you to finish it, but you couldn't do that, could you? He was scared and bleeding and you couldn't...there's still something soft about you. Whoever made you, made you wrong."

Dean can't listen to this. "You haven't answered my question. Why now?"

"You," she says, and he remembers when he met her in that room, that grey room on that exam table, the wound on her leg and the blood dripping from it. Her face was okay, then, though. It wasn't bruised and cut like it is now. Her face hadn't met Ben's fists, yet.

"Me," he replies, unsure of what this is exactly, of what she's saying.

"You kept calling them yours. I thought you were crazy and you kept showing all of these...emotions. They were yours and you were concerned and I kept thinking to myself that you were going to break. That they'd break you when they turned the little ones, but they didn't do either. You got out. With them. With him." She nods to Sam. "You all got out."

"Yeah..."

"But only you. You four. I thought you were going to kill him, I really did. I thought you were going to kill him and we'd all get out some way or another when you did, but you didn't. So I did. I killed him because you couldn't and I thought you'd be grateful for that."

Dean would have done it. He would have. He was going to do it, he was going to finish it, end it all. He had that gun pressed to the bastard's throat, had that life in his hands bleeding away and that was the problem. It was a life. A terrible waste of a life, but it was a life, composed of blood and water, flesh and skin, and there was darkness inside of it, sure. A shitload of darkness that caused so much fucking pain, but it wasn't...it wasn't the kind of darkness his daddy taught him to kill.

Which isn't to say he's not grateful the son of a bitch is dead, because he is. It makes him sick to his fucking stomach, but he is.

"I am," Dean tells her. "It makes me sick to my fucking stomach, but I am."

"You should be. I did it for you."

She's looking at him now in a way that makes him uncomfortable. Dean shifts on his feet, glances back at both Bobby and Sam who are looking at him with raised eyebrows that are a little too disturbed to waggle suggestively. The bastards.

"You just said you did it for-"

"Me."

"That's right. And last time I saw you, you didn't talk like this."

"I wasn't allowed to talk back then."

"But when you did, it was different. You were-"

"I was afraid. I don't have to be afraid of them when I'm here and they're not." And her eyes slip from his face, because that's what it comes down to, what it always comes down to with kids from...there. He watches as her gaze drifts quickly through every corner of the room before settling back on him, eyes wide and asking that question he's been asking her ever since he managed to wrangle that gun out of Alec's hands. _Are they here? And if they're not, where the fuck are they? _

She shakes her head, tries to shake the expression off her face. "You can kill me if you want. I'll hold still."

They're not going to kill her. Dean's not sure what they're going to do with her, but they're not going to kill her.

"Nobody's going to kill you." Sam's using that gentle voice of his, that soothing voice, that Dean-I-promise-you-the-car's-okay-now-just-settle-down-and-breathe voice.

They're not going to kill her, but they can't just let her go. Dean wants to be able to look at her and see something else, but all he sees is the blood and the fear and the years of desensitization, the patience and the waiting, the footsteps so soft they're almost silent through the grass, and then the kill, bloody, but swift. All he sees is a broken shell with little left inside. All he sees are Alec and Ben, because this is what they would be if they'd stayed, if they'd stayed long enough for those assholes to suck them dry. To suck everything human right out of them.

And this girl doesn't know what home is. She might lose it and go back to where she came from. Home is the place you know.

"I think maybe the panic room. Ain't no other place," Bobby's voice is right in his ear and Dean nods, because it's awful but there really isn't any other place for her right now. They can't just let her loose, free to roam in and out of the house, free to roam away. And the boys...the boys won't go down in the basement.

"Um...Girl?" He doesn't know her name. He doesn't know her number, either. Designation. Whatever. "We're gonna figure something out for you, but right now we have to..." _Keep you contained._ "Keep you here."

Suspicion. Dean sees it in her eyes as she nods, as Sam moves to get her water, as he tips it into her mouth. Bobby breaks out the first aid kit and Dean tends to the open wounds, tries not to cringe as he touches her. Nobody moves to unbind her. She keeps her eyes on them, muscles tensing whenever a touch feels like more than skittering of fingers across her skin, inhaling deeply whenever Dean moves his head too close.

"Where are you keeping me?" she asks when the ropes finally come off, vertigo hitting her as soon as she stands, and Dean grabs her, steadies her as his brother takes hold of her arm.

"It's, um...it's cozy," Sam tells her. "There's a bed. And a fridge."

A cot and an empty fridge.

"We'll bring you food," Dean tells her and they move, and it's all good until they open the basement door, until she sees the stairs descending into darkness and that's when she hisses through her teeth, struggles against their hands.

"That's a basement," she says, her voice trembling, a low note on the verge of a rise. "You're putting me in a basement."

"It's just for now," Sam soothes, gripping her as she tries to pull away. "And we'll come down and give you food and make sure you're okay-"

"Basement," she says, and those tears are there again, panicked and angry, and that shark is back in Dean's gut, chomping away. Angry water. "You're putting me with the anomalies."

"No," Sam says. "We don't have anomalies. We promise."

But it doesn't do any good. She writhes and flails and they barely manage to drag her down the stairs without stumbling and falling and cracking their heads on the concrete below. She shrieks and it's terrible, inhuman even, and the sound is full of the kind of anguish that breaks everything in its presence. Dean can feel himself cracking as Bobby opens the door, as they heave her inside and slide the iron shut after her.

Her eyes are wild behind the barred slot and she's gasping for breath and sobbing and then she collects herself for just a second, just long enough to get it out.

"I did it for you."

"M'sorry," Dean tells her, and he means it, he does. Right now, they're not any better than the place she came from, that place that locked her away when she was unneeded or unwanted. That place that locked Alec and Ben away, that would lock Sam away, too, if they ever got their hands on him. "It's not forever. I promise you."

"You still want to kill me."

She's inconsolable. Dean opens his mouth to try to say something else, but there's nothing else to say, so he just stands there and tries to choke down the weight in his throat. He feels his brother by his side, Sam's arm brushing against his, they're standing so close.

It's Bobby who snaps them out of it, with a tug to their shirtsleeves and a reminder that Alec and Ben are upstairs and waiting, probably gnawing their little fingernails to the quick, they're so nervous. "I reckon she'll wear herself out eventually," he says, though it sounds like his voice is being pushed forward by something half-hearted and heavy because she's crying and shrieking and begging, and they can hear her body banging against the iron, bruising what's already been thoroughly bruised. "Maybe she'll even fall asleep."

Maybe she'll knock herself unconscious.

That fog in Dean's head is thick as Bobby leads the way up the stairs. He freezes at the landing, shifts when Sam's ginormous body nudges him out of the way.

"Dean?" Sam asks.

Dean remembers Ben and how he used to cry because he couldn't make sense of all that shit in his head...how he doesn't cry anymore for that same reason. Downstairs, she can't make sense of any of this. There's just that room they threw her into.

"Dean," Bobby says.

Dean remembers Alec shaking like a diabetic. He remembers lifting the boy into his arms and breathing him in, the nervous fear accompanying their return to that room where he was told to stay. All by himself.

_I don't wanna be alone again._

He asks, "Are we the monsters?"

Sam and Bobby stare at him like he's cracked, which makes perfect sense, because he is. Dean is cracked. They made little boys out of his image and then they cracked them, cracked him, cracked everything around him. His shell, all that terrible shit inside of it seeping out, that anger that defies all of his sense, those questions he was always strong enough to keep inside during times like this, and that need to cling, cling to the first warm thing that smells like his blood, his brother, his father, his sons.

Dean needs to not be cracked anymore.

"It's just for now. We're gonna figure something out." Sam's always trying to be reasonable, and he reaches out a hand to rest on Dean's shoulder, possibly to squeeze it in comfort, but Dean jerks away. Because he needs to not be cracked anymore.

"Yeah. I know."

He doesn't know.

"Kid." Bobby's hand is on the back of his neck. Dean tries to get away from that, too, but the grip tightens, pinches a little, like Bobby's a bitch and Dean's his newborn, half-blind offspring and everything about this analogy is fucked except for the Bobby being a bitch part. Bobby's totally a bitch. Sometimes.

"Dude-"

"I'm going to take care of it, Dean."

"_How_?" He doesn't mean to snap it, doesn't mean for it to come out as belligerent and suspicious as it does. And it's possible that he feels slightly cowed by the narrowed-eyed, irritated glare he gets in response. Possible.

"I'll tell you that when I get it done." The gruff bastard. Bobby doesn't usually say things like this, doesn't usually expect them to keep their goddamn questions to themselves like Dad used to, but here he is. Dean just stares at him, slightly slack-jawed, and Sam's next to him, probably with the same look on his face and they just stand there until Bobby heaves a sigh, pulls Dean away from the door and shuts it. "What are you idgits still doing down here? Kids were upstairs last time I checked."

Alec and Ben are upstairs. That's where Dean goes, with Sam at his heels.

He opens the bedroom door and Alec's a cannonball launching himself at Dean, arms wrapping greedy and tight around his waist, little head tilting up to look at him as he asks, "Are we going now? Are we getting the hell out of dodge?"

This kid. Dean splays a large hand across the narrow back, soaks in the buzzing energy as he manages a soft smile. Just for this kid. "We're okay, kitten. We're okay here."

They're okay here. Even if she's screaming in the...no.

Ben's still on the bed, his chin still on his knees and he's staring at them, but not saying a word. He hasn't moved. Not an inch. Sam moves over to him, sits down on the edge of the mattress and tries to touch him, but the boy jerks away and doesn't even spare him a glance while he does it.

Alec unwinds his arms, takes a step back. Narrows his eyes. "How do you know?"

"Because I know," Dean replies, knowing full well this won't satisfy his little mon...no, Alec's not a monster. But he is little. Little and Dean's. "If I didn't know, we'd be halfway to Canada by now."

Alec glares.

"How do you _know_?"

"She provided photographic evidence," Sam interjects. "It's okay, Alec."

"Can I see it?"

"No," Dean says, and he hears his brother's voice meshing with his own. They haven't done that in a while.

"I _need_ to-"

"_Alec_." Dean snaps even though he shouldn't and he's well aware that he shouldn't, and he kneels. The movement is fluid. He grabs the boy and tugs him forward before he can take another step back, and Alec stumbles right into his arms, holds still and doesn't make a sound as Dean wraps his arms around him, tight and suffocating like an anaconda. He's warm and he's breathing and he's here and Dean hasn't fucked it up completely, not yet.

"What?" Alec mumbles into his shoulder, and Dean finally feels the reciprocation, the small hands on his back, one of which smoothes over his shirt, goes up and then down and up again, barely hears the breath of, "S'okay, Daddy."

Fuck. Christ. This is the reason. Alec's seen things and done things, and sometimes they've been terrible things and Dean knows it, but then there's this, this guarded piece of innocence in the midst of the destruction and Dean needs to keep that whole. Dean can't let that be tainted by guns or blood or dead men. Not anymore.

"I promise you it's real," Dean mutters. "You can't see it, but it's real. It's too fucking gross and you're too small for things that gross."

"But I..." Alec trails off. Dean knows what he would say if he kept going. There's already all those fucked-up things he's seen that he'll never unsee, and who or what does Dean even think Alec is, anyway? But he doesn't. He doesn't say these things. He stops himself and the hand stops rubbing to pat Dean three times on the back in a somewhat demeaning manner. "Alright, Cuddles. I think I need some oxygen now."

"Don't call me Cuddles," Dean grumbles, but he unwraps himself, rocks back onto his heels. "You believe me?"

Alec takes a while to respond, his eyes flickering over every aspect of Dean's face like he's studying a rather complex specimen. Dean holds still, waits, keeps eye contact until the boy finally, slowly, nods. Then Alec takes a step closer and leans in, whispers, "I think Ben's broken. He won't talk. Make him talk."

Dean lifts his gaze to see Sam watching Ben, his gigantic hands curled around the comforter so as not to be tempted to reach out again, to try to coax him when he doesn't want to be coaxed. Ben hasn't moved, not much anyway. His chin's no longer on his knees, but his nose is, tucked into that warm, closed spaced between them, with his eyes cast down to his feet. He's all closed up, this kid.

"Ben?" Sam asks, and there's hope in his voice, but not much of it. Dean swallows at the look in his brother's eyes when the boy doesn't respond. He's already dead from today, but Sam and that look just slaughters him all over again because two and a half-decades ago, "Dea" wasn't so amazing after the first five hundred times. It was so not amazing, in fact, that there came a point when Dean would stop listening to it and the baby's eyes would well up and then he'd start crying. Sam always needs to be acknowledged. Sam always needs to know that he belongs.

Alec understands this about Sam. "Uncle Sam? I think it's time you took me out for my first beer."

Sam's lips twitch and he gets to his feet, peels longing eyes away from Ben. "And by beer you mean...?"

"Ice cream?"

"Sounds like a plan."

"With sprinkles."

"Sure."

"And beer."

Sam snorts in amusement, but he lingers for a moment, long enough to tell Ben they'll bring him some ice cream, too. Ben doesn't acknowledge the offer. Ben just stares at his feet.

Dean watches his brother and his kid exit the room, Alec's voice quietly asking right before the door shuts, "Where is she?"

The room seems heavier without them. And smaller, even though this space between Dean and Ben seems ridiculously huge. But it's nothing. Dean closes it in three strides, in fact, drops onto the edge of the bed and just waits because he doesn't know how to talk. He gets over it sometimes, for short periods, but when it comes down to those moments when the importance is undeniable, Dean's an emotional mute.

So is Ben, apparently, when he's cracked. Cracked like Dean.

He doesn't know how long they sit there, how long he waits, but it seems like it's been forever and Ben's still sticking to his catatonic guns. Dean just wants to unwrap him, to physically untangle those arms from around those legs, to tip that head up, and exorcise all of those terrible thoughts right out of his boy. He wants to see them leave, wants to witness the black smoke spiral into the air and vanish because then he'll know they're gone.

They'll never be gone, though. Dean knows this. Dean knows the bad stuff never really goes away, but he can dream when it comes to Ben. And Alec.

"Did you kill her?" The long-awaited whisper fills the room, soaks into the walls. Ben is somehow everywhere Dean can't touch, even though he's right here.

"No, baby," he says. "I didn't kill her."

The pause is long, the next question hesitant. "What'd you do with her?"

"She's in the basement."

Ben's breath hitches. He slides his legs through his arms and places his hands on his thighs, spares Dean the quickest of glances before focusing on his own fingers. "Is she a 'Nomlie?"

It always comes back to the monsters in the basement.

"No, Benny, she's not."

And then again, with the not talking. Dean listens and all he can hear is the exhalation of Ben's breathing, quiet and quick, and a little harsh. He waits, wishing he knew what to say, knew how to convince this kid that everything's going to be fine, that he doesn't have to worry about anything anymore because Dean's going to take care of him for as long as he can, until that day comes when he finally keels over from one too many double bacon cheeseburgers.

But Ben never believes him. Promises of _I'll always want you_ get fucked up somewhere along the way, taken hostage by memories of things that don't exist, and things that shouldn't. And every time Ben shies away, or looks at him with fear in his eyes, or stumbles over his words because this entire concept of family was beautiful in the beginning, but now it's one of those things that he won't let himself see or can't trust himself to believe, that's another crack. Another crack running straight through Dean, and there's so many of them now, he's not sure anything will ever be able to fix him, or his boys, or his brother-

"Am I?" Ben asks, and the cracks become obsolete.

Dean shatters.

_Are we the monsters?_

He twists and bolsters himself up with an arm bridging over Ben's legs, tilts the kid's head level with a finger to his chin and growls, "No." And Ben flinches. And Dean softens. "God, no. Ben, you're not."

"Then why am I so messed up?"

"You're no-"

"Don't lie to me," the boy snarls, and his eyes start to leak. Dean moves to wipe them, but Ben bats his hand away. "I'm messed up. My head's all messed up. You can't tell me that's not true because you're not me and you're not in here."

"Benny-"

"_No_." His small fist rubs over an eye, swipes hard past the tears running down his cheekbone, leaving a slight smear of red in its wake. Blood.

Dean snatches the hand up, grips it when Ben tries to yank it back, but there are no cuts, just a smattering of dry crimson accentuating the lines of his tender skin, and Dean swallows. He doesn't deserve to be a father. Fathers don't leave blood on their sons' tiny hands.

He lets go, gets to his feet. "C'mere."

"No." Ben shakes his head, shrinks back into the headboard.

Dean kind of wishes Sam were here right now. Sam's the one who's good at the coaxing and Ben, for the time being, is the kind of kid who needs to be coaxed. But Dean's not Sam. "You can come by yourself or I can carry you. Whichever way you want it, sweetheart."

Wary green eyes. That's all Dean sees as the boy slowly edges himself off the bed and onto the floor. Dean guides him to Bobby's bathroom with a hand on his shoulder, twists the sink faucet on and waits for the water to warm.

Ben's back to not saying anything, but he keeps looking up at Dean in quick intervals before he looks away again, curious despite himself. And for once, he doesn't pull away when Dean reaches down and gently grips his wrists to direct his little hands under the stream of water.

There's bar soap on an old shell-shaped soap dish in the corner of the counter closest to the wall, and Dean picks it up, runs it over the backs and palms of his boy's hands and then tosses it aside when he's managed to work up a decent lather. He can feel the coarseness of his own hands as he rubs the soap into the sides of Ben's, kneading the remains of her blood into nonexistence, and he never lets go because he never wants to, keeps hold as the water sluices over their skin and washes the suds away.

He dries their hands with what looks like a reasonably clean towel, eyes on task even though he can feel Ben's intent gaze touching his temple.

"The other you couldn't touch me."

Dean's stomach clenches in the worst way, but he tries not to show it. He hangs the towel back on the rack and picks a clean washcloth off of a chipped shelf.

"There ain't no other me, kid," he says, and he leans down, hefts the boy up with one strong arm to set him on the countertop. "There's only this me." He turns the faucet back on, checks the temperature. Wets the cloth.

"I know," Ben says softly, and he shudders and closes his eyes when the soaked washcloth touches his cheek. "I know that."

"Do you?" The cloth drips. Dean should have wrung it out, but he didn't, and now there's a stray drop of water on Ben's nose. He touches it with a finger and swipes it away. Squeezes the cloth over the sink.

"I do." The kid's voice is cracking. "It's just sometimes...my head is messed up. It doesn't work right and I thought he was you, I did. I wanted you there, and he was there and he looked like you and talked like you and I wanted it to be you. But you said things-"

"It wasn't me, Benny."

"...He said things. He said mean things. You didn't want me-"

"Who didn't want you?"

"_He_ didn't want me."

Dean understands messed-up heads because he has one himself, and he, too, has mastered the art of believing in fathers who aren't real...but John was no superhero, and Dean's no hallucination.

He trails the washcloth over and under Ben's chin. "He wasn't real. He couldn't not want you because he wasn't real. So who didn't want you?"

Ben can't answer that question. Dean moves his ministrations to the back of the boy's neck, feels him shiver through the cotton.

"That's your first clue. Everyone wants you. Even the people who should never have you, want you. S'okay, though. I'll never let 'em get you because I want you a helluva lot more." Dean lets the rag drop into the sink with a slap against the porcelain. "Can you believe me when I say that?"

Ben looks at his knees. Dean holds his breath, but he can only hold it for so long, and after a minute, he says, "Benny."

Ben doesn't look up. "I could see him. You told me to believe in the things I could see."

Dean did. Dean did tell him that.

"But he couldn't touch you."

Ben swallows, shakes his head. "He couldn't touch me."

Of course he couldn't. Hallucinations aren't corporeal.

Dean snatches one of the kid's hands up from where they're resting on his thighs and squeezes it.

"Am I real?"

The kid lifts his head, finally, looks at Dean with red-rimmed eyes and tears that aren't angry – which is completely and utterly awesome, because water should never be angry. Water is pure. Water washes the dirt and the blood away. "Yeah," Ben says. "You're real."

"You're damn right I'm real." Dean's real. He always knew he was real, but it never seemed like that great of an accomplishment until this moment. "And do you remember that thing I told you? When we first met?"

Ben blinks. Dean can see the tears rolling out from under his closed lashes, streaming down the curves of his little face and part of him wants to wipe them away, but most of him wants to let them fall. Kid hasn't cried right since they got out. Sam's cried and Alec's cried and fuck it, Dean's even shed a tear or two when nobody was looking, but Ben…for Ben, it's the first time. Like a baby just out of the womb.

And the kid hasn't answered the question, yet. So Dean prompts him. "Benny?"

Ben looks up. "I need a bath before I get in your car?"

Dean snorts. "Close, but no cigar. Try again."

Ben's hand is still warm in Dean's, and the pressure of the small fingers is comforting even as the kid lowers his head again. "You're not gonna let anything bad happen to me."

"Yahtzee." That's exactly what Dean said. That's exactly what Dean should never have said. Not then. Not when he had no real understanding of their situation. "And I failed you. I fucking failed you, kid. I failed you miserably. I let them get you even though I kept promising I wouldn't and they hurt you again. They hurt you and your brother and I sat in that cell trying to find a way out and I couldn't. I couldn't stop it even though I should have and those sonsabitches were fucking with your head and putting you in places where you shouldn't ever be. And they made you feel like you didn't belong to me and I need you to know that's not true. I'm sorry…I'm sorry I let them get you. I…" He didn't mean to do this. He shouldn't do this because this is what his father did to him, smothered him with apologies that changed nothing, and Dean doesn't even have the excuse of being drunk off his ass. "Christ, Ben, I'm so sorry."

Ben pulls his hand away and Dean feels empty for that split second before the kid launches at him, before those arms wrap around his neck and he feels that hot breath against his skin, hears the quiet, "It's okay."

_It's not_, Dean wants to say, but he doesn't. He doesn't because he can't because he's drowning. He's drowning in this kid in his arms. He's drowning in that funny thing Sam has in his head and that look Alec gets in his eyes every time he loses himself in those thoughts that he should never have. He's drowning in the girl in the basement and in the snow outside, in the screams, and in the cracks in his skin made by memories of things both terrible and amazing.

"Daddy?"

He's drowning in the knowledge that water is an incredible thing. He wishes he had some right now because his throat is dry as hell and he doesn't trust himself to speak - but he does. He swallows, and says in a voice that is low and hoarse, "Yeah, Benny. I'm right here."

The arms tighten. The face nuzzles further into his neck.

Time disappears. Cracks form and heal. The faucet drips. Dean can't help but think that there's a rhythm to this cycle, blood and fire and family.

Ben slips off the counter and into his arms and Dean knows he's real, he's always known, but something about the kid's weight solidifies that fact. Ben is real and Dean is real and they're cracked to all hell, but they're here. For the first time in a long time, they're right here.


End file.
